Even Old Wounds Can Heal and Dead Hearts Can Feel
by Trilliumwoods
Summary: You're not fond of people, so you move to the woods where you've always felt the most at peace. You've heard the stories of the Crystal Lake Killer, but urban legends aren't enough to dissuade you from your chosen new residence. Alone at last, you think to yourself... but you are wrong about that. You'll find out just how wrong very soon. A reader/Jason Voorhees romance.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author Note:** This is a reader/OC and Jason Voorhees slow burn romance, and it will eventually contain smut/lemons/sexually-explicit content, so please do not read if that's not your cup of tea!_  
 _Also contains adult language, murder/violence, mentions of cancer and physical assault, and animal death._

...

The shower handle squeaks a bit as you turn it on before slowly stripping out of your clothes. You move somewhat stiffly after a long day. You aren't sure how you manage to get so sore from not moving much at all, though you suppose that is actually part of the problem - you really need to be better about stretching and standing up for more frequent breaks during your sedentary desk job, you remind yourself. Steam begins to fill the small, somewhat cramped bathroom as you comb the tangles out of your hair with your fingers and consider your reflection in the mirror for a moment.

Your body shows the evidence of poor heath and hard luck: a long, raised scar runs from your forehead to your jaw along your left cheek where a man had slashed a broken bottle down your face for daring to politely-but-insistently reject his advances. You almost never went out, but that time you'd let your small circle of acquaintances from your previous job talk you into it. People were always telling you to _be more sociable, to stop being so introverted and unfriendly._ So even though you hated every second of it, you had given it your best effort… and look at the result. As you sat alone in the ER getting sewn up (for none of those former work acquaintances even accompanied you to the hospital) the nurse tried to reassure you that it really was a freak occurrence, that you shouldn't let this put you off of clubs and bars and drinking with strangers… but you sat there mutely and did not give her the comfort of your agreement. It had only reinforced your conviction that people were not to be trusted. The scar is thick and it pulls your skin taught, contorting your lips slightly to the side and causing strangers on the street to stare and no doubt wonder what had happened to you. Some of the more bold ones ask. You never reply.

Men, in your opinion, are garbage. Well, you aren't especially fond of people in general, but men especially have given you plenty of reasons to fear and dislike them and that incident was the shitty icing on the crap cake. You know the statistics, have seen the evidence all around you in the world. There is a fear there, lodged deep in your heart and mind like a railroad spike. A fear that has hung over your head for all of your life. Your father had fortunately never hit or molested you, but he had been distant. He was never fully there, always kept himself hidden away, as did your mother. They never shared their hearts with anyone, including each other, including you. Things were not discussed in your household. They were shoved under the bed, tucked away in the closet, never spoken out loud. Your parents hadn't seemed to like people much, either, though you never knew exactly why. But now they are gone, so you can't ask them now even if you wanted to - which you don't - and they probably wouldn't have replied honestly anyway.

So far you have managed to make it through life without being raped or killed, but it's only because you keep yourself just as hidden away as your parents had - it certainly wasn't for lack of trying on the part of those potential rapists, killers, and just plain old creeps. Your safety has come at a cost, but it is a cost worth paying, in your opinion. All you need to do is watch the news, read the statistics, see women all around you being hurt and abused and taken for granted, and all too often murdered at the hands of their lovers, both current and former - and even by the fathers of their children. How could one hope to love in a world so full of evil? Who could be vulnerable with another when that person could use that vulnerability to make your life a living hell, or even to end it? No, you thought, it was better to be alone with yourself instead of alone with another.

Below your clavicle and down your sternum lives another scar that spreads out across your mangled right breast, the discolored skin pulled tight and dimpled where the cancer had ravaged your body and the doctors had cut away your flesh and the invader within it piece by piece. Even though it is gone now, you can still feel where the port had been placed beneath your skin to administer the poisons that helped keep you alive. You run your fingertips over the spot as you regard your scarred and somber face in the mirror for only another moment, then step into the hot spray of the shower to wash away another day and prepare for a busy morning.

Now that you've secured a boring-yet-stable job as a medical biller where you can work from home, you can isolate yourself almost completely as long as you have electricity and high-speed internet. So you and your pair of milk goats are moving to the forest, where you've always felt the most at peace. Your chosen spot is rural enough to provide the solitude you crave, but not so far out as to make necessary resources inaccessible. The feed store is only twenty miles away and you can order most of your own supplies for delivery online - and anything you can't order could be picked up in that same town where the feed store is. It was perfect: a quaint little cabin with a quaint little barn just a short hike away from Crystal Lake, but far enough from other lakeside vacation homes and the notorious campground that you shouldn't be disturbed by whoever disregarded the local legends to party it up on the shores of that lake. You have heard those legends yourself, but you aren't really the superstitious type. Still, it's an interesting story: a killer stalks these woods, the rumors say. The vengeful soul of a boy who had drowned and then came back as a man, or rather as an unstoppable force that kills all who dare step foot in his territory. _Jason Voorhees_ , they call him, and he kills to avenge his Mother and the child that he'd been, choking and struggling at the bottom of that lake while the camp counselors in charge of his safety looked the other way, too busy having premarital sex or something like that. If these supernatural stories had been true, then honestly you couldn't really blame him. But urban legends aren't enough to dissuade you from your chosen new residence and you begin packing your belongings in earnest that morning - you, Nan and Billy will be moving in two weeks, and you can hardly wait. The wilderness calls to you, as does the promise of a simpler existence. Maybe you can get some chickens. You'll need to build a coop to keep them safe, what with all the raccoons and weasels and other critters that would no doubt enjoy a chicken dinner, and while you aren't handy with tools and your carpentry skills are next to nothing, you're willing to try and teach yourself.

...

Two weeks pass by in a flash and then you're hitching up the moving trailer to your pick-up truck where Nan and Billy are pacing nervously beneath the camper shell. As you return to the drivers side door you make a soothing sort of sound at them which goes ignored, and not for the first time you think about how vulnerable it is to be a domestic animal. While belonging to a kind owner would be like paradise with all your needs met with no effort on your part, being owned by a cruel one would be a hell from which escape was impossible. While despite your best efforts you can't control _everything_ about your life, you are at least a little bit less powerless than them. Even though their milk and offspring feed you, you sympathize with their plight and treat them as kindly as you can.

You start up the engine and pull out from the drive as slowly as possible to keep the goats from rattling around too badly in the back of the truck, then head off to your new home and what will hopefully be a less-aggravating life. "Hang in there, guys, only three-hundred-twelve miles to go," you say out loud when Billy sticks his muzzle through the back window to snuffle anxiously at your hair, and you turn on the radio (not-too-loudly), reset the trip odometer, and down the road you all go.

Moving in is always an energy-draining prospect, especially after such a long drive, but you've got enough adrenaline pumping to get through it. First Billy and Nan are introduced to their new home, and you take a moment to watch as they stomp and snort in alarm while inspecting their new surroundings. The barn is cozy and cute, and much nicer than the rather ramshackle one you were renting before. They'll be quite content here once they finally relax. A decent-sized pen is fenced off of the side of the barn and you look forward to expanding it further as time and money allow. Eventually you drag yourself away to begin unpacking your belongings. You don't own much, but moving your few pieces of furniture by yourself is exhausting and you make sure to move your mattress first so that you can pass out on top of it when the sun finally goes down. While the goats are probably still a little jumpy outside in their strange new barn, you fall asleep easily into a deep, contented sleep for the first time in awhile. _Alone at last,_ you think to yourself, making dreamy little plans for the following day and relishing in the knowledge that you are at least a few miles away from any other human… but you are wrong about that. You sleep peacefully, not knowing that you'll find out just how wrong you are very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake up with the dawn, roll out of bed with a stretch and a yawn, then pick your way across the floor between unpacked boxes. You gaze out the slightly-dirty kitchen window while you heat up your breakfast, taking in the misty spring morning. Normally by now you would have already been out to milk Nan, but you kept her and Billy apart last fall to prevent babies being born this year since you knew you'd be moving. They weren't too happy about it, but wrangling baby goats and a momma in milk was way too much work on top of resettling. _They'll get their chance this fall, randy little things,_ you smile to yourself. Oh, to be as free of sexual hang-ups as animals are, you think a bit wryly. After breakfast you get dressed and go out to check on them. Everything is in order, so you give them a pat on the head, feed them a little hay and then treat yourself to a walk through the woods. There's still so much unpacking and organizing to do, but a little time with nature and a leisurely stroll will help recharge your batteries.

You head down the path that should take you Crystal Lake, completely unaware that you are being watched. Hunted, more like it, but unlike most prey animals - and despite your wary nature - you don't have keen enough senses to feel the eyes on your back coming from within a thick stand of trees nearby. Instead you walk happily, paying special attention to each new little bud that is poking its way through the last chills of winter and starting to bloom. You'll need to invest in a book about the local flora someday. You probably haven't even been walking for ten minutes when you finally sense a presence. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and it has nothing to do with the chilly morning air. Then there is a rustle and the snap of a twig. You hope it's a deer, but somehow the dread creeping over you lets you know that it's not. You spin around and freeze, then find yourself staring up into the angry, lopsided eyes of the Crystal Lake Killer himself, Jason Voorhees.

He is absolutely enormous - a towering mass of muscle and tattered fabric, he has to be over six and a half feet tall and his heavy work boots only add to his imposing presence. You can't even begin to guess how much he must weigh, but those big hands of his look like they could crush your head like a grape. He radiates hostility and holds a machete in one of those hands, sharp and stained with the blood of his countless victims and you know that your blood will now be the next to coat its blade. You gulp but remain calmer than you would have expected when faced with certain death, though it wasn't like you hadn't had practice at it thanks to your near-fatal illness. You suppose that since life hadn't been much more than a long parade of misery anyway, you might as well be done with it before the cancer comes back or something else takes you out. You just hope that somehow your goats will manage to escape their pen and live out their lives happily in the forest - or else that Jason will dispatch them quickly and painlessly after he takes care of you. Does he even kill animals? You aren't sure if the legend clarified that little detail.

"Jason, isn't it?" you ask, and he pauses with the blood-stained machete aloft. "Please, just make it quick." You look directly into his eyes as you make this request. They're hazel colored, more brown than green, and surprisingly expressive considering they're the only part of his face that isn't covered by the dirty white fiberglass of his hockey mask. You can't even see his eyebrows. He raises the machete just a bit higher and you continue, "And could you please let my goats out of their pen? I don't want them to starve after you kill me." That makes him pause again, and now you see confusion in those mismatched hazel eyes. "Or just kill them, too - only please, make sure they don't suffer. They're the only things I love." You finally look at the ground, waiting for that machete to fall. You wonder if it's true that a decapitated head is aware it's been severed for a second or two before death, and suppose you're most likely about to find out.

But for some reason his arm drops to his side, the machete resting against his pant leg instead of buried in your skull. You glance back up at him. He looks completely bewildered and you have no idea why. Somehow he actually looks oddly cute all of a sudden, like an enormous puppy who doesn't understand the command that you've given him. It's only then that you begin to think, really think about the man - the creature? - before you. Apparently at least parts of the legend are true - but how much of which parts? Is he even alive himself? What little bits of skin you can see are oddly grayish and somewhat leathery, like a cyanotic corpse that has been dried in the sun just a little too long. Yet there is something rather damp and earthy about him as well, as though he'd sprung forth fully formed from the dirt and the moss and the bark of the trees… and the lake. That clear, crystal-blue lake where he'd supposedly drowned so long ago. Though he isn't soaking wet right now, there is something about the way he moves that feels waterlogged and heavy, as though he is still trudging along the bottom of that lake that had taken his life. You wait for his verdict.

Unbeknownst to you, a fierce battle is raging in Jason's mind. You are a person. You are on his land. That means you must die. But then again, you hadn't begged for your life or shown fear, but rather you pleaded on the behalf of animals. Of helpless creatures that you claimed to love. Of innocent beasts that were under your care and at your mercy, who you loved and watched over. Like his Mommy loved and watched over him, and unlike the people who had let him die in the lake that he is now doomed to haunt. He's always loved animals. They are the only living things besides his Mommy that show him acceptance rather than judgement. Animals never call him a freak, never shove him or kick him or laugh at him. He's had opportunities to kill them over the years - wild animals of course, but besides that mostly dogs that campers or counselors carelessly allowed to wander loose in the woods. But killing an innocent animal for no good reason at all is abhorrent to him. In fact, he always makes sure that the so-called guardians of those dogs suffer the most when he kills them, punishment for showing their animal charges so little concern by allowing them to wander off where they might get hurt.

He saw the goats from a distance when he staked out your cabin and planned your death, but he's never seen one up close before. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Jason vaguely remembers a picture book about farm animals that his Mommy had read to him. It had horses and cows, chickens and ducks, sheep and goats. Once the owner of Camp Crystal Lake brought some ponies for the children to ride and Jason had been immediately and completely entranced. He can still remember the feel of their sleek hair beneath his fingers and the way the longer hair of their manes slipped through the comb when the owners allowed him to brush one. The velvety softness of their noses and the flick of their fuzzy ears. The way that they looked at him with their dark soulful eyes without a hint of judgement. The way they gobbled up cubes of sugar out of his palm, their whiskers tickling his skin and he'd giggled at their eagerness. He wished those ponies could have stayed all summer long instead of just one day.

His compassion for animals and his rage at humans have him at a stalemate, and he isn't quite sure what to do. After you're dead he could set the goats free, but there are coyotes in these woods - as well as the occasional stray dog - and he has seen what they do to young deer. But if he keeps them safe in their pen he wouldn't even begin to know how to care for them himself. Considering his options, he tilts his head slightly as he looks down at your confused face, and he suddenly thinks of you as the mother-figure to those goats. He thinks of that bad girl who had beheaded his own Mommy. He thinks of the time he had killed a woman without knowing she was the mother of a little boy who had reminded him of himself. He wasn't going to make that mistake again, wasn't going to be like that bad girl who killed mothers.

The earth shifts a bit beneath his heavy boots and a twig snaps as he takes a step back from you, then without a word he turns away and lumbers off between the trees and out of sight. You stand there stunned for several minutes, wondering what just happened. Why had he let you live? The legends said that almost nobody survived an encounter with Jason Voorhees, and the few who did had managed it only by injuring him severely and running away. But you had just stood there and asked him to show your pets mercy. Is that what did it? Was he off to kill them now before returning to kill you? Or was he actually sparing all of your lives? You decide right there that you're not going to question it any further. It doesn't make any difference, because if he decides to kill you at any time there is no way you'd be able to prevent it anyway. And self-destructive though it may be, you'd rather die by his blade then move back to where you came from. So you head towards home and only then notice that you're trembling a bit. While you'd been prepared to die, your encounter with the legendary killer still rattled you. While you find most men somewhat unsettling, you've never been in the presence of such a huge, physically-intimidating one, let alone one that didn't quite seem to be fully human - and not to mention one that you had been certain was about to murder you.

You find Billy and Nan in their pen, chewing their cud and blissfully unaware of the drama that just occurred. You enter their pen and sit down on the ground beside them, then sit there for hours just processing what had happened. Eventually they leave your side to eat some more hay, but you stay where you are, just thinking. Now that you know Jason Voorhees is real, it appears that you have a new neighbor. Well, actually you're _his_ new neighbor. It's his turf, after all. Though you are naturally inclined to avoid your neighbors, this time you feel like you should make some sort of peace offering. After all, he'd offered it first by refraining from murdering you on sight, and even you aren't so rude as to ignore such hospitality. But what could you do for a possibly-undead killer as an invitation to peacefully co-exist? You watch the goats munching. Food is a traditional welcome-wagon gift, but does Jason even need to eat? _Can_ he even eat? Would he want to eat anything you could offer him anyway? You don't recall the legends making any mention of him cannibalizing his victims, but it doesn't seem outside the realm of possibilities to you.

You look out into the woods, wondering if he is here, if he's watching you right now. Wondering if he's waiting to see if you'll make a wrong move somehow, if you'll do something that will spur him into killing you. _Well, fuck it,_ you think. You've spent all of your life being told that you don't behave normally, that your choices are wrong, and those days are behind you. You'll go about your business as usual, and your natural introversion should hopefully prevent your clashing too badly with your famously unfriendly neighbor. There might be some conflict if he dislikes you walking along the paths through the woods on his land, but you love the landscape too much to stay hidden away inside all the time. Navigating these inevitable conflicts are sure to be a challenge, but you've faced worse things in your life. You get to your feet at last and go back inside to continue unpacking while you think.

You can't get Jason out of your mind as lunchtime comes and goes, and then dinnertime as well. Where does he live out there in the forest? What does he do when he's not killing? Killing is the only thing you can imagine him doing, so the only gift you can think of to offer him must tie into that somehow. You place the evening's hay into Nan and Billy's feeder and give them some cut up apple pieces as a treat before heading back inside. While cleaning up the dinner dishes you wipe the blade of the knife you'd used to cut up the apple and are hit with a burst of inspiration: the legends said that most of his killing is done with that machete he'd held during your encounter, but that he didn't use it exclusively when dispatching his prey. You put the apple knife away and instead pull out a meat cleaver. It's heavy and well-balanced, some expensive high-end European brand, the kind that are meant to last a lifetime. It seems like it might do for a gift, and is versatile enough that it might meet many of his potential needs from killing campers to chopping up meat - if he does happen to eat food. If nothing else it is a nice-looking piece of cutlery, so he could hang it up on the wall of wherever he lived. That thought actually makes you laugh a little, imagining the interior decorating choices of a murderous monster. Judging by his fashion choices, aesthetics aren't all that important to him… but then again, to be fair, clothes that are large enough to fit him are probably pretty hard to come by considering he doesn't ever seem to leave the woods. You're no fashion icon yourself, so far be it from you to judge how he dresses himself.

You take a moment to sharpen the meat cleaver until it's razor-sharp, then choose a dishtowel out of the drawer and head to the front door. You turn on the porch light and stare out into the darkness for a few moments, actually hoping that he's watching. It would probably be good to say something, to call out to him that this gift is intended for him, but you don't know what to say. So instead you just kneel down and neatly fold the dishtowel into a little pillow, then sit the cleaver on top of it. You straighten up again, throw one last significant look towards the woods, then go back inside. You debate whether to keep the porch light on or not… would he appreciate the light to help him retrieve your offering? Or does he prefer to move in the darkness? Eventually you decide to keep it on - he had no qualms about approaching you in the daylight that morning, and if he wasn't out there right now and hadn't noticed that you'd left something for him, perhaps the light will lead him to investigate and find it.

Once your pajamas are on and your teeth are brushed, you tidy up a few last little things and then crawl into bed. You keep your ears pricked for any sign that Jason might be near, but you hear only quiet and the occasional hoot of a distant owl. Eventually you manage to sleep despite your anticipation, but it's only because the last few days have been so exhausting. When morning comes you go straight to the front door, unlock it and peek out onto the porch… and the meat cleaver and dishtowel are gone.


	3. Chapter 3

You glance around for a moment but don't see Jason anywhere. You exhale quietly and slip back inside to get dressed and eat breakfast, then go back out to tend to the goats. They're standing with their front feet up on the fence and waiting for you, then bleat out a greeting when they see the hay in your arms. You talk to them while they eat, asking them how their night was, how they're liking their new home. Of course they can't understand your words (and even if they could, they would hardly care what you were saying while there's food in front of them…) but you're sure they can understand your safe, comforting tone. Plus if you didn't talk to them then you would hardly ever use your voice at all. You tidy up their stall a bit and take a wheelbarrow full of soiled bedding out to start a compost pile at the back of your property, all of your senses on high-alert. You tip the wheelbarrow forward just enough to dump out the manure, and before you can right it again you see him.

Jason is not fifteen feet away, standing stock-still and just watching you. His stance is aggressive, but not as threatening as when he had that machete raised above your head the other day. In fact, you don't see the machete or any other weapon on him now but you still freeze like a deer caught in the headlights anyway. "Uh, hi Jason." you say cautiously after a few beats. He doesn't respond, doesn't make a sound or move any of his considerable muscles. He just stands there and you start to feel increasingly uneasy, images of him pulling your meat cleaver out from behind his back and flinging it right into your forehead flashing through your mind. You look closely at his eyes. He's looking at you in a way that can only be described as suspicious, but you _think_ maybe you detect a slight bit of curiosity as well. It's like he doesn't quite know what to make of you, isn't sure what you're all about and isn't expecting to like you once he figures you out, but there's a small part of him that might, just _maybe_ , be willing to give you a chance to show that you still deserve to live. At least you hope that's what that look means.

"Did you get the meat cleaver I left you?" you ask, finally tipping the wheelbarrow back to its upright position. To your surprise and relief, Jason nods. Only once, and still with that distrustful expression and aggressive posture, but he's interacting with you in a way that doesn't involve directly threatening your life and it feels like a significant moment. "Oh, good. I hoped you would. I just wanted to say thank you for not killing me, and let you know that I'm going to try to be a good neighbor. I know this is your land and I appreciate you letting me stay. I'll try not to bother you, but if I do something you don't like, please tell me so we can try to work it out, okay?" He doesn't say a word or even nod this time, and you feel stupid for babbling. Is he going to answer at all? There is a long, awkward silence, so finally you mumble, "Um, well, I'd better get going. I have a lot of unpacking and organizing to do still and I have to start work again tomorrow." Still he says nothing, so you give him a somewhat weak smile before returning the wheelbarrow to its place and heading in to finish getting your home office set up. When you look out the window at lunchtime, he is gone.

...

You don't see Jason again for five days after that, and when you when you realize you've been counting the days you wonder what's wrong with you. _Well, it's not everyday you live in the same vicinity as a mythical killing machine,_ you think to yourself, so you give yourself a break for being interested in him and wondering if you'll ever see him again. Sometimes when you're outside you'll hear a rustling in the woods nearby, see something just out of the corner of your eye moving behind a tree, but can never be sure if it's just a wild animal, the sunlight and shadow that dapples the foliage or just a trick of your imagination. Seven days pass, and you begin to worry that maybe you've finally lost your mind and just hallucinated him… either that or he really is out there but is just going to leave you alone from here on out. You're not sure which is preferable at this point. But just when you were getting used to the idea that either way you wouldn't be seeing him again, he suddenly appears right in the same spot you saw him before, not fifteen feet away from the compost pile. You're not a jumpy person, but you still nearly leap out of your skin when you notice him, he's standing so motionless.

"Oh! Hi again. Uh, how are you?" you ask, wiping your dirty gloves on your jeans. He makes no reply, but at least he doesn't seem to be projecting quite as much hostility as before. You scramble to think of something to say and eventually blurt out, "Would you like to come meet the goats?"

After a beat Jason nods, and your heart leaps a little bit. Progress is definitely being made. What you don't know is that he actually very much wants to see the goats, and he's happy you asked. He's been watching them - and you - from a distance for the whole last week, keeping out of sight and just observing to make sure you don't do anything bad that deserves punishment. But you've been diligently taking care of your animal charges, no men have come over to have sex with you, and you've steered clear of going to the campground itself, deep into the heart of his territory. In fact, he's actually begun to find watching you rather interesting. He usually doesn't wait this long before slaughtering the people who cross his path, so even your rather humdrum routine of work, leisure, and goat care is fascinating to him. Plus it's still too early in the year for people to start coming around the lake again, so he's had nothing else to do. Your gift of the meat cleaver was completely unexpected, another puzzling-but-intriguing thing for him to figure out. He saw you place it on the porch, and even though you couldn't see because of the dark, you'd actually made direct eye-contact with him before turning back into your cabin. Too curious to ignore it he'd gone to investigate, machete at the ready in case you tried to hurt him like so many people have in the past. The meat cleaver and towel were confusing. Even though he knows next to nothing about normal human life, he couldn't imagine any reason to sit those items on the porch at night. So he took them. When he came back the next day you confirmed they were gifts, and Jason couldn't remember the last time someone had given him a present. It must have been his Mommy on his last birthday.

So he steps through the underbrush and follows you into the barn. When Nan and Billy catch sight of him they both startle and snort in alarm as they rush to the far side of the stall. "Don't take it personally, they just don't ever see any people besides me. If you keep visiting, they'll get used to you." you say, watching him carefully and trying to read his eyes. You can't tell what he's thinking at all, but you hope he's not offended by Billy and Nan's standoffish response to him and wonder what he thinks about your implied invitation for him to visit more. You know that food is the fastest way to most animals hearts, so you walk to the grain can in the hopes of speeding up the process of acquainting your pets with your neighbor. Both goats perk their ears forward at the sound of the lid opening and their bodies practically quiver from the dilemma of staying put because of stranger-danger versus the tantalizing promise of their favorite treat.

"Do you want to feed them?" you offer. Jason doesn't respond for a moment, and in his mind he's trying not to act too eager. Yes, he wants to feed them, but what if you're setting him up for some sort of trick or humiliation? People are not to be trusted, after all, even people who take care of animals and seem like they might be nice. He studies you closely for another moment. He doesn't have great people-skills (to say the least…) but from what he can tell you still seem to be afraid of him, which is what he prefers. Surely you're not stupid enough to try and trick or humiliate him when he could pull your head right off your shoulders and drop-kick it out of the barn. He makes a mental note to try that on a future victim, but decides that victim will not be you. Not today, at least. So he finally nods and you scoop some grain out of the can and hand him the cup. It's dwarfed by his gloved hand - as is your own. "Just shake it over the side of the pen and I bet they'll come over here." you instruct, and he obeys. The grain rattles around for only a few seconds before Billy throws caution to the wind and trots over to stick his face in the cup and gobble up a few bites. Jason smiles beneath his mask, but he's glad you can't see it.

"Come on over here Nan, it's okay," you call out reassuringly - half to her and half to yourself - and after a few seconds she finally joins Billy and soon both of them are trying to shove their faces into the cup at the same time. They're eating with such vigor that they would have knocked the cup out of your hand by now, but clearly Jason is more than strong enough to keep his grip. You take off your gloves to scoop up a little grain in your own cupped palms and hold it over the edge of the pen to break up the feeding frenzy anyway.

"This is Nan, and this is Billy. Sometimes they have babies, too, but not this year. I didn't think I'd have the energy to deal with baby goats and milking Nan on top of moving. But next spring they should have some, if everything goes well this fall." You're babbling again, but still your visitor doesn't say a word so you stop talking. Once all of the grain is devoured the goats lose interest and go back to their hay, but at least they're no longer acting anxious. Jason is a little disappointed he didn't get to touch them directly, but then you offer, "You can come see them whenever you want, you know. I don't mind, and I bet they'd like the company since I'm stuck inside working all day. Just give them a handful of grain and soon they'll be your best friends."

Jason turns to look at you, and his expression is inscrutable. You wish he didn't have that hockey mask on. He hands you back the grain cup, then with one last look at Billy and Nan he lumbers back out of the barn, leaving you behind.


	4. Chapter 4

You don't see Jason again for almost another week, and to your surprise you feel a little disappointed. You aren't sure why… usually you preferred to be left alone, but even though he is still extremely intimidating and still might decide to murder you at any moment you have to admit that there's something extremely interesting about him. Maybe it's the whole _possibly-undead_ thing, which is quite a novelty, after all. It's a bizarre shift in your lifelong pattern of being frightened of men, and you can't help but appreciate the ridiculousness of being curious about and eager to see a known serial killer when your whole life before now had been spent worrying that every random man on the street would try to hurt you when the reality was that most of them wouldn't. Then finally one afternoon when you come out to see the goats during your lunch break you find him hanging around outside the barn. He's still giving off vibes that he's not too sure about you, but he actually also looks a tiny bit shy, like he's not sure he should be here.

"Oh, hi Jason. Are you here to visit Nan and Billy?" Surely there was no way he was here to see you, after all.

Jason nods, and you open up the barn door and gesture that he should enter. "Come on in." He shuffles along behind you, and while Billy and Nan still startle when they see you both, it fades quickly and then they are looking at you with interest, hoping for more treats. "Hi goats, want some grain?" you ask in your usual casual tone that you use with them, and this time when you open the grain can they immediately run to the fence that makes up the wall of the pen and put their front feet up on the bottom board, sticking their necks out in anticipation. You hand Jason the grain cup. "Here you go." Again he says nothing, and you're starting to think that either he can't talk or just chooses never to do it. Well, you're used to talking to creatures who don't talk back, and actually you're starting to find his silence less unnerving and more of a happy coincidence. You don't much like having conversations with people anyway, and his staying silent is better than him being an annoying chatterbox. He takes the cup and offers it to the goats, and just like before they attack it with gusto. Beneath his mask he smiles, and then you make him even happier by saying, "You can pet them if you want."

He's flashing back to that summer day he'd spent with those ponies. He desperately wants to pet Billy and Nan now, but he's so much bigger than he was as a child and goats are smaller than ponies and he's worried he might hurt them. But the temptation proves too much so he slowly reaches out his free hand and gives Billy an awkward pat on the head. Billy doesn't react, he's still chowing down on grain, but he doesn't move away from the touch and deep in Jason's dead heart is a little flicker of something he hasn't felt in a long time. "There you go," you say soothingly as you scratch Nan behind her ears, and your soothing tone is intended both for the goats and for Jason. You're watching him closely and despite his hulking frame he's giving off the shy, somewhat tentative energy of a child at a petting zoo who has never seen a farm animal before. You glance up at his eyes, and all of a sudden he looks even more adorable than he did when you'd confused him that first time you'd met. How can a huge killer zombie be cute? You don't know, but somehow he's managing it.

This time once the grain is gone Billy and Nan stay where they are so you can keep petting them. Jason's getting a bit less tentative with his touch but you're still impressed by how gentle he's being considering his size and violent reputation. He could actually pet them a little more firmly and they'd be just fine, but you'll let him figure that out on his own. Eventually the goats wander back to the hay feeder and Jason pulls his hand back over the side of the pen to rest by his side. You check your watch and see that your lunch break is nearly over. "I have to go back to work now, but you can stay here if you want. And you don't have to wait around outside for me next time, just go on in. Just don't feed them too much grain or they'll get sick. Only a cup or two each day. Okay?" Jason looks down at you and nods, and this time he holds your eyes a bit longer than before. You can't quite read his expression for sure, but he seems calm and even happy. You can't blame him - animals make you feel the same way. "Alright, well, I'll see you later, huh?" you ask, and he nods again. For a guy who doesn't talk he's being pretty interactive at the moment.

You leave him in the barn and as you sit back down at your computer you wonder if you've made a mistake trusting him alone with your pets. After all, most serial killers start out by torturing and killing animals. But the way he was acting around them and the energy he was projecting somehow gave you confidence that he wouldn't hurt them - not on purpose, at least. Plus according to the legends, Jason isn't your typical serial killer. You hadn't paid the rumors much attention before signing the mortgage agreement - though you did wonder if they had anything to do with the unusually low price of the property - but now you think it might be time to try and get more details. Next time you go to town you'll see what you can find out.

Back in the barn, Jason is just watching the goats and thinking. Your assumption that he didn't come to see you was incorrect - while he had wanted to feed the goats again, he also wanted to interact more with you, which was a foreign sensation to him. But you are being nicer to him than even the owners of those ponies had been and to his utter surprise, he likes it. It was easy not to think about loneliness when there wasn't anyone around to want to be with, and all those worthless people that he punished didn't count. But now that there is someone friendly he finds himself drawn to the company. Then he realizes somewhat sadly that you're probably only being nice to him because you're still scared he might kill you, and also that if he took his mask off you definitely wouldn't be friendly anymore. Nobody who saw his face ever was, not even back before he'd drowned. But he's finding that his instinct to murder you is fading more day by day, so while he'll never, ever remove his mask, he can at least try to let you know that he's not planning on ending your life. Unless you do something really very bad. But he hopes that you won't, because it might be the only time he'll feel sad about fulfilling his duty. He also hopes that you'll keep being nice even after he's convinced you that you don't need to fear him anymore - assuming he ever manages to convince you. He stays in the barn for another two hours then decides to leave. He's watched you long enough by now to know your routine, and while he knows you shouldn't return for another several hours he doesn't want to be out here when you come back to do the evening chores. That's a little too much interaction. He's already feeling slightly overwhelmed by the strange new feelings he's experiencing, so back to the forest he goes.

...

Spring is in full swing now, and the trees are leafing out fully and everything is a beautiful, bright green. Two weeks later you go to town to pick up some supplies and try to do a little more sleuthing on the legend and history of the Crystal Lake Killer. You have't seen Jason since that last interaction, but the level of grain in the can has been slowly decreasing so clearly he's taken you up on your offer to visit the goats on his own. You might actually have to tell him to lay off the grain to prevent Billy and Nan from getting too fat. You pull into the feed store parking lot and back up the hay barn, then head into the office to place your order and ask some questions. The clerk isn't too happy with your line of questioning and is pretty evasive, but you don't let up and eventually you get out of him that Camp Crystal Lake is _'cursed'_. That after Jason drowned in 1957 his mother, Pamela Voorhees, who was employed as the cook at Camp Crystal Lake, went crazy and murdered two camp counselors the following year. Then there was a series of fires at the camp, and while nobody could prove it was her, the prevailing local opinion was that it must have been. The camp was closed down, but several years later a persistent entrepreneur decided to reopen it once more, triggering Mrs. Voorhees into a second round of murders, this time dispatching many more people than just two counselors. The lone survivor of the massacre had managed to take out Pamela in a rather gruesome manner, and you're horrified to learn that she'd been decapitated with a machete. Since then more murders had followed from time to time, but that was all that the feed store clerk would say. Frustrated that there was no real mention of Jason, you purchase your hay and head for the local diner, hoping the people there will be a bit more forthcoming.

The bell rings when you open the door and there's more of a lunch crowd than you would have liked. But then again, the more people were there the more likely you were to get more information. Most of the people there are just as reluctant to speak of Jason Voorhees and his mom as the feed store clerk was, but fortunately for you there's one waitress and one old trucker who are more than eager to share the morbid gossip. As you eat your sandwich they regale you with the tragic tale: they rehash what you already know, but then continue on: Jason did indeed disappear as a boy, his mother did indeed go on a killing spree. But then things got weird. Nobody could seem to decide if he'd really died in the lake and came back from the dead, or if he'd actually survived and his mother just didn't know it.

"I think he just lived out there in the woods like a wild animal," says the waitress as she pours your second cup of coffee. "What kind of mother doesn't even know if her kid is alive or not? I never did like that Pam Voorhees, she got what she deserved if you ask me."

But the trucker vehemently disagreed. "There's no way he was just out there in the woods all these years! That boy was slow in the head, he would've died after a day out there even if he hadn't drowned - which he did. Nope, he's gotta be a ghost or somethin', ain't no other explanation for it. Ugly sonuvabitch, too, and I bet he's even uglier now after poppin' out of the grave about twenty times. Weird lookin', dumb little kid, never said a word and didn't have any friends. Somethin' wrong with his head. Too bad, he was a tall, husky thing, woulda made a good football player. Went to camp with my daughter."

"Never went to school, neither." adds the waitress as she hands you your bill. "That mother of his homeschooled him, but I don't know how she could have done any sort of decent job at it considering her husband ditched them and she had to work two jobs after that. Quite the scandal back in those days."

"I can't say I blame the guy, I woulda left too if my old lady was as crazy as she was and gave me a son like that." finishes the trucker with a swig of his beer.

It takes all of your power to keep your face neutral. For some reason hearing all of this is making you feel a fierce sort of protectiveness for Jason. How could they be talking so harshly about an unfortunate little boy? Sure, Jason is a murderer now, but he wasn't back then. And whether he had drowned or just gone missing in the woods, either way his mother must have been devastated at losing him considering the extreme nature of her revenge, and especially since her piece of shit husband had abandoned them. Your heart darkens with hatred towards the waitress and trucker for their appalling lack of empathy, and you say a curt _thank you_ , pay for your meal and leave. You've heard enough.

You get home and back the truck up to the barn to begin unloading the hay. It's a hard job, but it feels good to get some exercise. You've only unloaded two bales when suddenly Jason is beside the truck. Today he finally felt ready to see you again, and you're more than ready to see him after everything you learned in town that day. "Hi, Jason." you say, slightly out of breath as you heave the heavy hay bale into the barn. He only acknowledges your greeting by meeting your eyes, then watches you roll the bale onto a pallet in the corner. When you turn back around towards the truck you're shocked to see that he's holding the next two bales of hay by the twine, one in each hand. You step out of his way and just stare as he lumbers into the barn and effortlessly stacks the bales on top of the ones you've already unloaded as if they don't weigh anything at all. "Wow, thanks," you stutter. He just goes to get the next two bales and you watch dumbfounded as he proceeds to unload the entire truck for you. When he finishes you just stand there looking at each other for a moment, and you hardly know what to say or think. "That was really nice of you, thanks." you finally say, and Jason feels a burst of pride at your gratitude. When he was a little boy his Mommy always told him that it was good to help others, but he was rarely given the chance. But he liked helping her, and he liked helping you. Especially when the task was so easy for him and he saw how you were struggling.

You notice how Billy and Nan are practically salivating at the sight of him - clearly they've come to associate Jason with treats and it warms your cold little heart that they're getting so much attention. But speaking of those treats… "Hey, by the way, can you do me another favor? When you come feed the goats, can you maybe start feeding them some tree leaves sometimes instead of the grain? I think they're getting a little pudgy. Maple trees are good, so are alders." Then you wonder if he knows which trees are which. You don't think there's anything poisonous around, so hopefully even if he doesn't know his tree species he shouldn't bring them anything harmful. Jason nods, then without a word turns away and heads off into the forest. "Uh, bye!" you call after him, but it turns out your farewell is premature because he returns not fifteen minutes later carrying an absolutely enormous maple branch. Then when you look closer you realize that he's actually uprooted an entire small tree. You hold in a giggle as he hoists the tree over the wall of the pen and holds it aloft while Billy and Nan go to town on it. "Wow, I think they probably like you more than they like me at this point!" you laugh. You think about what the trucker had said about little Jason not having any friends so you add, "I told you they'd be your best friends."

Jason looks at you, and while you can't see the smile on his face, you swear you can see it in his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

The days grow longer, the weather gets warmer, and one Friday evening while sipping some tea out on your front porch you hear the sound of a car speeding down the nearest road that leads to some of the other lake houses, radio blaring. It seems that tourist season has officially begun. You're annoyed for only a moment before you realize what this means: it's time for Jason to refresh his reputation. You've seen him on and off from time to time all spring, and his interactions with you and the goats have become so benign that you've actually almost forgotten what he is. But his visits have tapered off over the last couple of days and you wonder if it's because he's been anticipating the arrival of outsiders… and now here they are. Strange feelings are buzzing through your entire body: you're a little bit scared because you know that carnage will be happening nearby very soon, but you're also weirdly excited and find that you're actually somewhat curious about how Jason works. Apparently you must dislike people even more than you thought, because the idea of Jason murdering them bothers you less than is probably healthy.

The cabin that car full of people rented must be pretty far away, because you don't hear anything for the next two days until police sirens go screaming up the road and a shiver runs down your spine. There can be only one explanation. When the ambulances go back past your house again you can't help but think what morons those people must have been to come to a place with such a track record of murders and otherwise mysterious deaths and disappearances. But then again, the rumors hadn't stopped _you_ from moving here, let alone just vacationing. But still.

The pattern continues over the summer: vehicles full of people drive down the road by your house and police cars drive back, and when you go to town it's busier than usual with the influx of vacationers. You don't see hide nor hair of Jason and you find that you're missing him a bit. While it's true he's not a very good conversational partner, you've still been enjoying his company. It's kind of like having a third goat - you feel very little pressure to make small talk or keep a lengthy conversation going, which is perfect because you've never been very good at it. Yet it's nice to know that when you do speak he's understanding you on a level that the goats cannot, even if he's just as silent as they are. Actually the goats are louder than he is, you think with a smile, especially when they see him coming with another gigantic tree offering.

One afternoon at the very start of September you go out on one of your walks through the woods. You haven't strayed as far from your property as you usually do all summer long, trying to avoid accidentally running into any visitors - plus you suspect it might be wise to stay out of Jason's way while he's working, no matter how curious you are. So far you've been successful, but today your winning streak is abruptly ended when you hear voices from just up ahead. It sounds like two people, male and female, and perhaps in their teens judging by their voices. You consider turning around or even childishly trying to hide behind a tree but it's too late. Before you can move they come around the bend, holding hands and talking in obnoxiously loud, flirty voices. Just when you're wondering how Jason managed to miss these two, he suddenly emerges from behind a tree, silent as a ghost. He's not more than ten feet behind the couple, but they're too busy ogling one another to notice his presence. Your eyes widen and your mouth opens as if you're about to speak, but no words come. He looks absolutely terrifying, even more so than when he'd been on the verge of attacking you all those months ago. If you didn't know him already, you'd have shit your pants by now - and you're sure that his imminent victims would do the same if they turned around… but they don't get the chance, or at least the boy doesn't. There is a flash of movement as Jason swings his arm faster than you've ever seen him move before and something grayish flies through the air. There is a noise like a hatchet hitting a melon, and when the boy lurches forward and falls face-first on the ground your heart stops when you see your meat cleaver sticking out of the back of his head. The girl lets out a startled yelp which turns into a full-blown scream of horror when she realizes what's happened, then she spins around and screams even louder. Jason is speed-walking towards her so quickly with his long stride that the girl doesn't have a chance to escape, and her screams are cut off when he reaches out one giant hand and grabs her throat. Your heart starts pounding as he throws her to the ground and pulls the meat cleaver out of the boy's head with his free hand, then raises it up and slams it back down into her face with a sickening squelch. Blood splatters across his mask and even from here you can see the hate and rage burning in his eyes. And then it is over. He stands back up to his full height and looks at you with his eyes still full of fury and you shrink back a bit. Is he in some sort of crazed bloodlust frenzy where he isn't in control of his own actions anymore, like a bull elephant in musth? Does he even recognize you right now? Is that meat cleaver going to get returned to you after all, squarely between your eyes? But he just stares at you for another moment and you stare right back, and though the rage never leaves his eyes he turns away and disappears back into the forest, leaving you standing on the path with your heart in your throat, your lungs about to burst out of your ribcage, and two fresh corpses in front of your eyes.

After a few minutes your heart slides back down into your chest and your breathing slows a bit. Once you're about as sure as you can be that Jason's really gone, you creep forward towards the bodies and look down into the dull eyes of the dead girl. Her face is nearly split in two from the sharp blade of the cleaver, and the amount of power that it must have taken to cause this much damage with one hit is impressive - though you already know that Jason is ridiculously strong by the way he can practically juggle those heavy bales of hay and carry trees like they're twigs. It's gruesome, but you've actually seen worse. You've butchered enough goats in your day that you're not squeamish, and blood is blood, bone is bone, brain is brain. Speaking of brain, you can see a bit of it peeking out from beneath the bloody crevasse in the back of the boy's head and you actually take a moment to internally compliment Jason on his aim. You're good with a rifle, but you doubt you'd be able to hit a moving target with a meat cleaver. You feel a little bit bad for them, but not any more than you do for anyone else who draws the short end of the stick in life. Maybe they didn't deserve it, but neither do countless other people who die before their time, get sick, get raped, go broke, have their house burn down, lose loved ones… the list of random atrocities and misfortunes in life goes on and on. They certainly didn't deserve it any less than Jason had deserved to drown, because at least these two had probably been warned to stay away from cursed Crystal Lake. And who knows, maybe they _did_ deserve it. Jason certainly seemed to think they did, and whatever dark forces that are keeping him going apparently agreed.

You leave the scene of the crime and head back towards home. You're slightly shell-shocked from the violence you just witnessed, but only slightly. You think to yourself that perhaps you're just as psychotic as Jason is and that's why you get along so well… plus you're oddly flattered that he'd shown off his skill with the gift that you'd given him. Had he done that on purpose? Before long you hear another scream in the distance, which is quickly and abruptly cut off. At least it seems like Jason isn't a sadist who gets off on torturing his victims. From what little you've seen he's brutally efficient at it, like it's an aggravating chore that he just wants to get over and done with… like exterminating pests that have invaded his house.

You don't see him for almost another week, then several days after the last ambulance leaves the area he finally returns. You're refilling the grain can when he comes into the barn carrying his usual offering of branches for the goats, and you notice there are a few new dried blood stains on his clothes. "Hi," you greet him, and he nods. He's watching you closely, waiting to see if you're going to treat him any differently after what you'd seen him do just a few days ago - not that it would stop him if it bothered you. He likes you well enough, but not enough to stop killing. He needs to do it. It's just as vital to him as eating and breathing are to you. You decide not to acknowledge the incident - what's the point? He's gonna do what he's gonna do, and he doesn't badger you about your job so you're not going to badger him about his. He brings the alder branches over the side of the pen, and when he lifts his arms his tattered old jacket rises high enough that you see your meat cleaver hanging from his belt loop. Again, you feel weirdly flattered. "You're pretty good with that thing," you say, nodding at it when you come up beside him. "I'm glad it's being put to good use." He looks down at you, surprised by your nonchalant attitude but also happy that it seems his work isn't going to come between the two of you. You give him a little smile, then take one of the alder branches from him to hold for the goats yourself.

...

Summer turns into fall, and there are several projects on your little farm that need doing. You want to get started on building that chicken coop before winter comes so it can be ready for chicks in the spring, and Billy and Nan have begun flirting in earnest so you put them in separate pens. They can still see one another and rub noses through the dividing fence, but you don't want them making babies quite yet - you prefer kids to be born just a wee bit later in the spring. Jason is puzzled when he first sees them apart, so you try to explain… but it isn't as easy as you would have expected considering he's a grown man. He looks befuddled by the term _'breeding'_ so you have to use layman's terms: "This is the time of year they have sex, so they'll have babies in the spring." You're surprised when your cheeks feel a little bit warm discussing this with him - you'd never realized till now just how much awkwardness the technical animal-husbandry term takes out of the concept. You're even more surprised when he takes a startled step back from you and the goats, but then you remember the legends about him say that he's got a particular grudge against sexual activity. Is it just because the counselors who were supposed to be watching him were too busy fucking one another instead? Or because he died as a boy does he just have hang-ups about sex in general? What you don't know is that he's also confused about what sex and babies have to do with one another. His Mommy had never explained to him how babies were made, he just thought sex was something bad that people did and that required punishing, though he doesn't actually know exactly _why_ it was bad. It just was, wasn't it? But as he watches Billy and Nan rubbing noses through the pen divider he just can't imagine these animals that he's grown to love doing anything bad. He feels like the world has turned upside-down all of a sudden and his brain short-circuits for a minute as he tries to make sense of this new information. You can practically see the gears turning in his head and he actually looks like he might run right out the barn door. _And I thought I was uptight about sex_ … you think to yourself, and despite your own embarrassment you're a little amused. You decide to give him a heads-up about when he needs to steer clear of the barn so he doesn't see them in the act and end up having a panic attack or something. "I'm going to put them together the Friday after next, and it should only take a few days. Then everything will be back to normal again." you reassure him, but unfortunately you don't realize that he doesn't have any concept of a calendar week anymore and he has no way to ask you how many days it is until then. He's just going to have to take a wild guess at it.

You try to dispel the awkwardness by changing the subject to your new chicken project. He remembers chickens from that same old picture book from his childhood and he's excited about the prospect of more animals to visit. You tell him that you'll be picking up some lumber and other supplies this Saturday, but again he has no concept of when exactly that is. If he wants to see what chicken coops are all about - and he does - then he's going to have to turn up every day, breeding goats or not.

...

Two days later Nan is in full-blown heat and screaming her head off in frustration. "Sorry, girl. Two more weeks to go, then he's all yours." you try to comfort her, but she is inconsolable in her hormone-fueled misery. Billy is equally unhappy, and you actually have to extend the height of the pen divider to keep him from jumping over it in his frenzy to get to her. You head back to work and turn your background music up a bit louder to help drown out her wailing, though you're pretty used to it by now. You're just glad you don't have any neighbors to be disturbed by the racket… but that's not quite correct. Suddenly you hear your front door slam open and you leap out of your chair in terror. It's finally happening, a home invasion, and you curse yourself for not keeping your rifle at the ready in your office. Paranoid though you may be, you really thought you'd be safe this far out in the woods - and especially with Jason around now that you know he's on your side. You search for something else to fend off your attacker with and all you can find is a nearby lamp. You yank it free from the outlet and stand near the door, shaking a bit but ready to bash it over the intruder's head as soon as they enter the room. You hear heavy footsteps approaching, then the door opens a bit wider and with a primal yell you swing the lamp like a baseball bat with all of your strength… right into Jason's chest. The lampshade crumples and the bulb shatters but he doesn't even flinch, he just looks down at you with wide, panicked eyes.

 _"Shit!_ Fuck Jason, you scared the shit out of me!" you gasp, dropping the ruined lamp to the floor with a clatter. "God, are you okay? Sorry, I didn't know it was you, I didn't mean to hit you!" you stammer, but he doesn't seem to care, he just grabs you rather roughly by the arm and pulls you out of the room so hard that it's painful. His gloved hand is so big that it covers almost your entire forearm, and he's walking so quickly and his legs are so long that you can't keep up with his stride and your feet nearly leave the floor. "OW! Jason, you're gonna rip my arm off!" you cry, and that fear of him that you haven't felt in months suddenly flares back up with a vengeance. What if he doesn't care if he pulls your arm right out of its socket? Has he finally grown tired of your presence and is about to do to you what he did to all those campers not long ago? But he lets go of you immediately and when you dare to look at him he looks even more panicked, but also apologetic. Then you squeak in surprise when he grasps both of your upper arms with both hands, pressing them against your sides, then effortlessly lifts you right off the floor and actually carries you outside - though this time he's much, much more gentle. You have absolutely no idea what is going on, why he felt the need to come crashing into your house only to carry you out of it. To the best of your knowledge he's never even come anywhere close to your house before, save for when he took the meat cleaver and dishtowel off your porch. He only ever goes to the barn, which is where he takes you now. He sets you down right in front of Nan's side of the pen, then looks at you with that same panicked expression. Nan lets out a sex-crazed scream and you suddenly understand: Jason thinks something is wrong with her. You almost want to laugh in relief - he doesn't want to kill you, he wants you to help.

"She's okay, she's not hurt or sick or anything! She just really, really wants to be with Billy and she's trying to tell me how frustrated she is. But I'll let them be together soon, and then she'll quiet down and be happy again. They just need to be patient for a little while longer." You see Jason's body relax and relief seems to wash over him as well, but then he looks at you with an expression that can only be interpreted as anxious and deeply remorseful. His entire posture changes and it seems like he's trying to make himself physically smaller somehow. His eyes are wide and apologetic, then he reaches out and lightly touches your arm where he'd roughly grabbed you and begins petting it even more gently than he'd petted the goats for the first time. He looks mortified, and he is. In his panic he had forgotten just how easy it is for him to crush his victims with his bare hands, and your body is just as fragile as theirs and therefore just as easy to break. He feels guilty and angry with himself. After working so hard to prove to you that don't need to fear him, he's gone and blown it by manhandling you like a rag doll.

"I'm okay," you reassure him, and it's true. Your shoulder will probably be a little sore for a day or two and there will definitely be bruises on your forearm, but you can tell now that it was clearly unintentional on his part and that he feels extremely bad about it. "I'm really glad you came to get me when you thought something was wrong and I hope you'll do it again if you ever see trouble in the future. But please be a little more gentle next time, okay?" He nods vigorously, still looking earnestly apologetic and still petting your arm. You smile up at him and then bring your own hand to his chest where you'd hit him with the lamp. "Are _you_ okay?" His breath seems to catch when your hand makes contact, but then he nods again. His chest feels strong and firm beneath his dirty, worn sweater and you quickly remove your hand, then he pulls his hand away from your arm as well. It's the first time either of you has touched the other and it feels deeply personal in a way that neither of you are quite prepared to deal with.

Still, somehow it doesn't feel right to just leave things like this, not when he's still looking so sorry. "Well, um, since you're here and the goats aren't really in the mood for treats, do you want to come inside for a little bit? It's just about time for my lunch break." You make the offer without even really thinking about it, but he shakes his head, gives you one last apologetic look, and then hurries out of the barn. You feel strangely rejected somehow, but also glad that he'd turned down the invitation - you'd probably just end up awkwardly avoiding looking at each other while you ate lunch in silence. You see the pile of blackberry brambles that he'd brought for Nan and Billy laying on the barn floor, so you grab the pitchfork and toss them into their pens. Eventually they'll get hungry enough to take a break from their lovesick pining to eat them, and you go back inside to eat your own lunch, still not exactly sure what you're feeling right now.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Saturday arrives Nan's cycle has peaked for the time being and she's calmed down again, though Billy is still trying his damndest to woo her from his side of the pen, blubbering and bleating and bashing his head against the dividing wall. Her complete indifference to sex when not ovulating is amusing to you, and rather relatable as well. That morning you go to the hardware store in town with your shopping list and a print-out of the plans for your chicken coop, and when you return home with the supplies you find Jason waiting for you - but for the first time he's sitting on your front steps instead of in the barn. He stands up when he sees you and you wonder if he's just avoiding the goats for fear of seeing them copulate or if _maybe_ perhaps this is a sign that he might be willing to come inside if you invite him again. You decide to try it. "Hey, how's it going?" you greet him, but then realize that isn't a question that can really be answered with a shake or nod of his head so you continue, "I need some lunch before starting on the coop. Would you like to come in?" He hesitates for a moment, then nods and steps aside so you can walk past him to open the door. Somewhat excessively happy that he's accepted your invitation, you beam up at him quite involuntarily as you usher him inside. "Have a seat," you offer, sitting your purse on the counter while gesturing to the kitchen table. It's not a very large one since you normally eat alone, and Jason takes up an entire side by himself when he carefully sits down. You open up the fridge and ask him a question that's been on your mind since your very first encounter: "Do you want anything to eat or drink?" He shakes his head, and you can't help but probe for more details. "Um, can I ask… do you _ever_ eat or drink?" He shakes his head again. Fascinating. What on earth - or elsewhere - is keeping him going?

For his part, Jason is feeling rather nervous. He can't remember the last time he was in a house without intending to kill someone - dragging you out of yours didn't count - and he's not quite sure how to behave. As you fix yourself a sandwich he suddenly feels like when he was a little boy watching his Mommy making him lunch, and he wishes that he could eat what you'd offered him. He tilts his head to one side as he thinks… maybe he actually _can_ eat, even if he doesn't _need_ to? He's never tried simply because he hasn't felt hungry since his resurrection. But then again, that would require removing his mask in front of you and that is absolutely out of the question. So he just sits there quietly as you put the mustard and mayo back in the fridge and then sit down at the table across from him. "This is what I'm gonna try to build," you say between bites, sliding the coop blueprints over to him. He looks down at them with great interest. He's no architect and he can't read, but he remembers playing with Lincoln Logs and building blocks as a child. Once he'd even tried to build a fort out of sticks and pieces of scrap lumber, and he thinks he can decipher the instructions here from the pictures. When you'd announced you were building a chicken coop he immediately decided that he wanted to help you, so he studies the plans carefully while you eat. The silence is companionable instead of awkward this time, and he rolls up the blueprints and carries them for you while you put your dishes in the sink before heading outside.

The rest of the weekend and early into next week is spent working on the new coop together, and while by now you know you shouldn't be surprised that Jason wants to help, you're still extremely pleased - and also extremely grateful later on, since it turns out that this definitely isn't a one-person project. His size and strength are incredibly helpful when it comes to handling the lumber and holding up the structure while you inexpertly use the hammer and drill with varying degrees of success - there is no way you would have been able to do this on your own. When you both stand in front of your newly-completed chicken palace you thank him profusely for his assistance, and the pride he feels makes his dead heart beat a little bit stronger.

...

The following Friday rolls around and it's time for Nan and Billy's forced separation to end. Bright and early that morning you open up the fence between their stalls, and while they're clearly happy to be in the same pen again Nan's not quite ready for action yet despite Billy's nonstop efforts to seduce her. Male goats have a reputation for a reason, after all. Jason's been coming over to visit every other day during your lunch break - though steering well clear of the barn - and depending on the weather you either eat outside on the porch or at the kitchen table. You feel a little weird at first that he can't eat along with you, but he doesn't seem to mind just sitting there while you do. Apparently just the company is good enough for him, so you try to get used to it.

"Welp, I'm gonna go check on Billy and Nan to see if they've made any progress." you say a few days after their reintroduction, fully expecting Jason to either stay put or leave, but to your surprise he actually follows you. He's had a long time to process what you'd told him about sex leading to babies, and despite himself he's extremely curious. Were the babies going to appear immediately? How? But then he remembers you said they wouldn't arrive until spring… but he still follows you into the barn anyway. You don't question him about it, you just open up the door and pray that they aren't right in the middle of doing the deed, because if they are you'll probably be even more embarrassed than Jason. You've seen it a hundred times before, but not with a sexually-stunted friend right there with you. Then you realize that's the first time you've applied the word _'friend'_ to Jason in your mind. It's actually the first time you've applied that word to _anyone_ in quite a long time. It's a weird feeling, but not in an unpleasant way.

Unfortunately for you, Nan and Billy are in the full throes of passion and they don't slow down just because they now have an audience. You and Jason just stand there silently watching for several minutes while they go at it, and you're too mortified to even look at him to see how he's reacting. The only thing you can think of to do is try to make a joke or something. "They sure do love each other, don't they?" you say in what you hope is a lighthearted tone, and even though it wasn't your intention something clicks in Jason's mind at that. _Love._ Is that what made the difference between the bad, cheap, teenager sort of sex that his Mommy had told him to punish and the innocent (for all animals are innocent, in Jason's mind), not-bad sort of sex that is happening in front of him right now? He's never really thought about that emotion outside of the love that he and his Mommy had for one another, but perhaps there are different kinds of love beyond that? He realizes that he also loves animals, so there's at least one other example. Is love also something that friends feel for one another? He tears his eyes away from the display before him to glance at you for only a second. Are you his friend now? He's never really had one, so he's not entirely sure. From his observations of other people both before and after his death, it seems possible. He knows he likes spending time with you now, and it seems like you enjoy spending time with him, too. He likes helping you with things such as the chicken coop and unloading hay, and it seems like you enjoy it when he does. You don't seem to mind that he doesn't talk, nor do you seem to mind that he kills people. He wishes he could ask you if you're his friend, but he doesn't know how… and even if he did, he'd feel too shy and afraid that you would say _no_ , that you aren't his friend after all. He looks at the goats again, now nuzzling and rubbing affectionately up against each other in post-coital bliss. Obviously the love they share isn't the same as he had for his Mommy and vice versa, so are Billy and Nan friends who have sex? Or is there another category of relationship beyond friends and mother-and-son that he doesn't know about yet? It's all extremely overwhelming and confusing, not to mention pretty embarrassing at the moment. Even though goat bodies are very different than those of humans, the fact remains that he's just witnessed a sexual act without murdering anyone during or after - and with another person standing right beside him, no less.

While he's having all these deep, questioning thoughts you're standing there just wanting to sink into the ground and die. You wonder how it's possible that he hasn't seen wild animals doing this considering he spends so much time in the forest, but what you don't know is that he actually spends a fair amount of late autumn and all winter - and even early spring - in a sort of hibernation since hardly any people come to the area during those months, awakening every so often to make his rounds and destroy any intruders. Occasionally there are hunters and of course he dispatches them quickly when he hears their gunshots, and every rare once in awhile people come and try to ice skate on Crystal Lake in the dead of winter - and of course end up dead themselves. But so far he's somehow managed to never stumble across any deer or other creatures _in flagrante delicto_ or actively giving birth.

"Well, if that one took they'll be a Mommy and Daddy in the spring," you say, still trying to sound casual… and then it _really_ clicks in Jason's brain: Mommy and Daddy. Of course. Even though his Daddy had left before Jason could remember him, other kids had two parents and sometimes at camp he'd seen them kissing one another when they came to drop off or pick up their children, just like Billy and Nan are doing now. It all made sense. A man and a woman who loved each other was it's own special kind of relationship, and they could have sex and maybe it would create children who would then grow up to do it as well, and so on and so forth. Judging by what you've said it sounds like maybe sometimes it doesn't always result in babies... so does that mean sometimes people and animals just do it for fun? The teens that he kills certainly seem like they enjoy it, and it appears that Billy and Nan do, too. Then with a jolt of horror he realizes that his own Mommy had to have done it with his Daddy to have created _him_. That revelation is far, _far_ too much for him to cope with right now, so he backs away a few paces and then walks quickly out of the barn, back to the safety of the forest.

 _Welp, he's finally snapped_ , you think to yourself, not turning around to look at his retreating form. You refresh the hay feeder and head back to the house to mark the possible breeding date on the calendar, hoping that Jason hasn't just been traumatized for the rest of his undead existence.


	7. Chapter 7

You don't see Jason for a long time after that, and you wonder if he was so disturbed by the carnal act that took place on your property that he's never going to come back. That thought makes you sad, and you think to yourself that if that was the only thing keeping him away then you would happily never breed Billy and Nan ever again if that's what it took to retain his company. For the first time in recent memory you actually start to feel lonely instead of reveling in your isolation. What has he done to you? How has this man, this monster, managed to wreck your peaceful, happy, solitary existence without saying a word? The days are rapidly getting shorter and wintertime always makes you a bit depressed anyway, but now you're extra-depressed… and you hate that missing another person is what's causing it. You find yourself standing out on your front porch every evening like an abandoned dog, just gazing out into the woods and watching, pathetically hoping that maybe today he'll return… but every night you end up back inside, alone and disappointed. But you always leave your porch light on, just in case.

The weather gets colder and Nan's belly gets wider with the weight of growing kids inside of her. The first snow arrives. Then finally one evening as you're giving the goats their hay, you hear a rustling sound and the creak of the barn door opening. Your heart leaps and you quickly turn around… and standing in the doorway is Jason, holding an enormous fir tree and looking a little unsure of himself. You're absolutely delighted. "Hi, Jason! I'm glad you came back!" you say happily, but stop short of admitting you've missed him. Nan and Billy both bleat excitedly at the sight of him and the tree and go rushing to the side of their pen - though it takes Nan a bit longer to waddle over. Jason seems to relax a little, then he walks fully into the barn to lift the fir tree up and into the pen where two eager mouths are waiting. "It's a little late for a Christmas tree, don'tcha think?" you smile at him, and he suddenly looks worried so you quickly add, "I'm only kidding, they love it. Thanks for bringing it for them." He relaxes again, then looks back at both goats devouring the tree as fast as they possibly can. "How have you been? Have you been okay?" you ask, wishing that he could tell you exactly what you can do differently so he won't feel the need to run away like that again.

Jason looks down at you and nods. The truth was that it had taken him quite awhile to come to grips with all of the intense and unfamiliar thoughts and feelings that had plowed into him like a runaway freight train the last time he was here. Instead of going into his usual hibernation state, he had spent the last few months just thinking - sometimes so hard it gave him a headache - and he had swung from understanding and acceptance to horror and confusion more times than he could count. But in the end he had eventually decided that even though everything new he'd learned was bizarre, apparently it was also the way of the world and his only hope of understanding it further was to go back to you. Plus he'd missed you, and he'd missed the goats even despite the last somewhat-alarming image of them in his mind. And on top of that his Mommy could do no wrong, so if she'd had sex in order to create him - and even if she did it just for fun sometimes, too - then who was he to label it bad? Clearly his job is to continue to punish bad boys and girls who have the cheap, bad kind of sex… but animals and adults who love one another get a pass - just as long as those adults aren't on his land.

When he'd finally worked through his mental and emotional turmoil he worried about going back to you after staying away for so long. What if you didn't want to be his friend anymore? Assuming you were ever even his friend in the first place… and if you weren't, then you certainly wouldn't want to be his friend now after all of this. But staying away any longer just wasn't an option, at least not until he knew for sure that you wouldn't want to see him anymore. So he'd pulled the nicest, most luscious-looking fir tree he could find right out of the frozen ground and walked the familiar path to your house through the snow, wishing that he knew of a good present to bring for you as well as the goats. To his enormous relief you seem happy to see him, and now you're even asking after his wellbeing. Before long it feels like nothing had ever happened, and after a few quiet minutes of just watching the goats eat you say to him, "Nan's starting to look pretty pregnant, isn't she? I wonder how many kids she's got in that big ol' belly." _Ah, so that's where the babies will come from_ , he thinks to himself. Billy must have put them in there. But how do they get out of Nan's stomach? He supposes he'll find out come springtime, since he's definitely not planning on staying away for so long ever again… unless you tell him to. And he really, really hopes you won't.

Once the goats have eaten as much of the tree as they can in one sitting, Jason leans it against the inside wall of their pen and lets go. You find that you don't want him to leave again so soon, so you blurt out, "Do you want to come in the house for a little bit? It's so cold out here." Not for the first time, you wonder where he goes when he's not with you. Does he just curl up under a tree in the snow? Does he ever sleep, or does he just endlessly roam his territory, hunting for victims who aren't even there? Does he feel cold? Does he feel pain? You suppose he must feel pain, since it was said that the few who have escaped from him had only done so by injuring or incapacitating him long enough to run away… it's hard for you to imagine what it would take to injure him, but no matter what his temperature tolerance may or may not be you still don't like the idea of him out there in the cold. Especially not when he could be in your nice warm cabin with you. Happily he nods, and beneath his mask he's smiling with just as much relief as you are.

You fix yourself a cup of hot chocolate while he sits at the kitchen table, but your plan before he'd shown up had been to start a fire in the hearth and read for a little bit before bedtime. "Let's go to the living room, it's more comfortable in there." you suggest once your cocoa is ready, and after a beat he gets up and follows you. He's finally gotten pretty used to being in your kitchen after all the lunch breaks he'd spent with you that fall, but this is new and more personal and his nerves jump a bit anxiously as he stands there in the living room feeling stupid and too large and just generally awkward while you get the fire going. "Go ahead and sit down wherever," you call over your shoulder from the hearth, though there's only two options: a loveseat in front of the television and an armchair by the fireplace. He suspects he might not fit very comfortably in the armchair, plus you were complaining about the cold so he figures you'll probably want to sit closer to the fire. So he sits down rather gingerly in the middle of the loveseat, keenly aware of how filthy and damp his clothes are compared to the upholstery. When you see that he's sitting squarely in the center of the loveseat you decide to sit in the chair. There would be room for you next to him if he scooted over, but it feels weird to suggest that when there's a perfectly good unoccupied chair for you right here. Jason eventually relaxes completely and your book remains unopened on the end table while you both just watch the fire in comfortable silence. Several hours later the fire starts to die out, and while you hate to call it a night it's well past your bedtime and work comes early.

"Well, I'd better go to bed. I have to work tomorrow morning." You try to decide what to do: should you invite him to stay inside where it's warm and dry? But he's too tall to lie down on the loveseat to sleep - assuming he even sleeps. It would be a somewhat tight fit, but he _could_ fit in your bed with you… that thought makes your face instantly heat up and you hope he doesn't notice - or if he does notice that he just assumes it's from the fire. You could offer to let him sleep on the floor or stay in the barn with the goats since it's nice and dry and cozy in there, too, but that feels rather dehumanizing - and even though now he's some sort of undead zombie-thing, he was fully human at one point. But Jason is having none of those internal struggles, he just accepts that it's time for him to leave so he stands up and gives you a little nod before heading towards the door. You hurry after him so you can at least see him out, and then watch from your porch without knowing what to say as he disappears out into the darkness and the snow.


	8. Chapter 8

Happily you fall into your previous autumn routine after that, with Jason coming to the barn every day to visit the goats and coming into your house every other day to visit you on your lunch break. On the weekends he stays longer, and you've started taking walks together through the snowy forest. It's absolutely gorgeous, quiet and peaceful and still, and Jason knows routes that you haven't discovered yet. You figure he must know these woods like the back of his hand at this point if it's true that he's been stuck here haunting them since 1957. The silence of the forest is broken as the temperature slowly warms and great chunks of snow begin to melt and fall from branches to the ground below with wet, heavy thuds. When you see the first little crocuses and snowdrops emerging from the earth you realize that you've been at Crystal Lake for a year now. And what a year it's been. When you'd moved here it was with the intention of running away from the world, of cutting off all contact with others except for the bare minimum that was required in your work and when purchasing food, hay and other necessary items. Your explicit desire had been to avoid human interaction, but somehow instead you'd accidentally stumbled into making a friend… and not just a regular friend, but the local monster that parents probably threaten their children with to get them to behave: the vengeful Killer of Camp Blood, the Terrifying Shadow who can never die. But to you, he's just Jason. Gentle and sweet and even submissive, like a boy trapped in a man's body who is eager to please.

Before long poor Nan is nearly bursting at the seams and according to the calendar the kids are due any day now. You wonder if you should tell Jason when it happens or not, if he'll find the event of birth just as disturbing as the act of sex, but now that he knows those babies are in Nan's stomach he's been paying her extra attention. He'd started actually going into their pen to pet them instead of just over the fence after he returned from his long absence, and now he sits on the ground with her every day while she rests, scratching her ears and running his hand feather-light over her swollen belly. It's devastatingly sweet, and you're also grateful for the extra pair of eyes keeping watch over her while you work. The odds are high that he'll be the one to find her in labor and sure enough on the day your intuition is telling you is probably the day, you hear your front door slam open like it did all those months ago when Jason had run panicked into your house. Apparently he no longer remembers that the polite human custom is to knock, but you don't really care. You clock out of work early and get up to meet him and he's looking almost as terrified as he did before, but he also looks excited this time. Before he can grab you or pick you up you ask, "Are the babies coming?" He shrugs and reaches out for your arm, and you let him take it and lead you out of the house because he's being gentle and he's obviously so worked-up that he can barely contain himself. "Alright, let's go see!" you laugh, realizing that you're actually more excited about his enthusiasm and the fact that he's about to experience something new than you are about the babies. While baby goats are always exciting and fun, you've been through the process so many times that it's completely familiar… but never before have you guided a friend through such a monumental moment where they're about to witness the beginning of life for the very first time. Jason knows all about the end of life - much more than most people, you'd wager - but to the best of your knowledge he knows nothing about the start of it.

You both enter the barn and you see right away that Nan's deep into labor, grunting and groaning and starting to push. Billy is ignoring her and eating his hay, which is typical for goats. _And probably most human men, too,_ you think bitterly to yourself. But clearly Jason is not one of those men because he lets go of your arm to lean over the side of the pen as far as he can to watch what's happening, and his entire body seems to be practically quivering in anticipation. He has no idea what to expect. "Wait here," you say kindly, then grab a bottle of iodine from the first aid kit before entering the pen. You stand off to the side since Nan prefers space while in labor and you've found over the years that it's best not to interfere unless there are problems. The process is slippery and messy and a little bit bloody, but Jason is unfazed by gore and he watches completely riveted as the first slimy little kid emerges. It's unlike anything he's ever seen, and after Nan licks the newborn's face clean and it lets out it's first squeaky little bleat he has no words to describe what's going on deep in his dead heart. Another kid quickly follows, and after both of their faces are clean and it appears that was the last one, you walk over to inspect them more closely. They look normal and healthy, and Nan makes worried little noises as you pick one up to coat the end of it's broken umbilical cord in iodine to help prevent infections. You take a peek between it's little legs and announce, "It's a boy!" The second kid is male as well, and after his cord is dipped you step back again to let Nan get on with her motherly duties. You and Jason watch for hours as the kids are licked completely clean and dry, then try to stand up and take their first wobbly steps. They stumble clumsily over to their mother and instinctively start searching around for her udder, hungry for their first meal. "Pretty amazing, huh?" you say softly, and Jason nods in agreement. When darkness falls and it's clear that Nan and her kids are doing well, you touch him gently on his arm. "We need to give them some privacy now, but we'll check on them first thing in the morning, okay?" He's unhappy to have to leave, but he wants what's best for goats so he nods and you walk together out of the barn.

You wake up at dawn and find Jason already waiting for you on your front porch by the time you come outside. Did he stay there all night, just waiting for permission to go into the barn again? "Good morning! Let's go check on those kids, huh?" you greet him, and he nods eagerly as he gets to his feet. Day-old goats are some of the cutest creatures on the planet in your opinion, and judging by the look in Jason's eyes once he sees them you suspect he agrees. They're bouncing around on their still-unsteady legs while Billy and Nan munch their morning hay, and you collect your milking equipment out of the storage tub and gesture to Jason that he can join you in the pen with them. While you milk Nan to help relieve the pressure in her newly-full udder, Jason sits on the floor of the pen just watching the babies, completely entranced. When one of them wobbles and bounces over to him he freezes up - you suspect that he's afraid he'll hurt it, but by now he has shown you how gentle he is capable of being and you're confident that he can handle this. Before you can give him permission to touch the kid it flops itself against his ankle, trying (and failing) to get its gangly little front legs over his huge, heavy boot. You laugh softly and encourage Jason to go ahead, and by now he trusts you not to steer him wrong, that these babies aren't so fragile that they will break if he dares to pet them. He reaches out one hand but before he can touch you add, "You should take off your gloves so you can feel how soft they are." That didn't even occur to him. He doesn't ever take his gloves - or any other pieces of clothing - off, but now that you've mentioned it, yes, he would very much like to feel how soft this brand new little creature is. So he removes them and tucks them away in the pocket of his jacket, then reaches out once more. It's the softest thing he has ever felt. The kid stays on its feet for only a few seconds before falling over again, but your gentle laugh reassures him that he's done nothing wrong and that the baby is fine. "It's pretty hard work learning to walk, isn't it?" you chuckle as you clean up the milking supplies. Honestly you're having more fun watching Jason than the kids at this point.

You call in sick to work so you can spend the rest of the day in the barn, occasionally going inside to feed yourself and use the bathroom. When you come out after dinner you find both kids fast asleep in Jason's massive lap, with Nan calmly chewing her cud at his side. You usually try to avoid getting too sentimental about the kids - cute as they may be - because come autumn they'll end up in your freezer, and you _always_ try to avoid getting sentimental over people… but the sight of this big brute of a man looking so gentle and a little bit bashful with a lap full of tiny sleeping goats kindles a warm, affectionate feeling in your belly. When it's time for you to go to sleep it's obvious that Jason doesn't want to leave, so you think now might be the moment to invite him to stay in the barn for as long as he wants. Happily he agrees, and you hope that he'll continue to feel welcome to stay even after the babies are grown and gone - and especially once winter rolls around again.


	9. Chapter 9

Yesterday's events have gotten Jason thinking about mothers. He's also thinking about how grateful he is for what you've shown and taught him, and he wants to show or teach you something new in return. But what? About all he knows is the land surrounding Crystal Lake… as well as plenty of creative ways to kill people. Then it dawns on him that there is one other thing he can show you: you've shown him more about mothers, so he wants to show you as much of his own Mommy as he has left, to teach you more about her… and himself. Her mummified head was destroyed several years ago, crushed by a particularly feisty victim who somehow ended up in Jason's home and had put up a good fight. While they had lost their lives in the end, they had managed this unspeakable offense before Jason gutted them with a ferocity far above and beyond his usual rage. He had picked up the brittle pieces of her last physical remains and buried them beneath a particularly beautiful tree just outside, and every year he adds the prettiest rock he can find to a pile on top of her grave. Her sweater he keeps on a dresser inside his run-down old shack, neatly-folded and surrounded by candles and a few other relics from his previous life. As the early morning sun begins to break over the horizon and weak little rays start streaming into the barn, he decides to take you there.

Once Nan is milked you go inside to eat your breakfast, and when you go back outside you're surprised to find Jason on your doorstep. He's not looking panicked so the goats must be fine, but he's been so enamored with them since they were born that you can't imagine what could tear him away. "What is it?" you ask even though he can't answer, but he reaches out for your arm and you let him take it. Clearly he wants to lead you somewhere, but when you walk past the barn and off of your property you can't imagine where it could be. He takes you along a path he hasn't shown you yet, deep into the heart of the forest and closer to the lake itself than you've ventured yet. This time last year you would have been certain he was leading you someplace to murder you horribly, but now you're just curious to see what he wants to show you. After quite some time you reach a small clearing, and in the center of it is a ramshackle old cabin. It's crumbling under the weight of neglect and the vegetation that is attempting to overtake it, sagging and settling into the earth. There's something a bit sad about it as well, just as there is for any abandoned place that has fallen into disrepair after it's no longer lived in and loved. It should definitely be condemned, but as Jason leads you towards it you suddenly realize that this must be where he stays when he's not with you. You're not sure if you should be glad he's at least got a roof over his head, or sad because it's the most pathetic-looking roof you've ever seen in your life. But before you make it inside the structure he directs you over to a tall, truly majestic oak tree. The tree itself is gorgeous, but that's not what holds your eye: beneath it is a small pile of pretty rocks that were clearly stacked there by a person rather than by nature. You both stand before it for a moment, and the only thing you can think of is that this must be a grave. But whose? Surely Jason didn't make a habit of providing funerals for his victims, so clearly this has to belong to someone special. The only person you know of who was dear to him was his Mother, but surely her body must have been recovered by authorities after the Camp Crystal Lake massacre in 1979? Although come to think of it, nobody had ever verified that fact during your research. Maybe Jason had managed to steal her corpse, or perhaps this grave is merely symbolic of her loss. Either way it is sad, and you bow your head a little to try and show your respects.

After a few minutes he leads you inside, and the uneven floorboards creak and groan beneath your footsteps. Most of the shack is empty save for dead leaves and dirt and other such debris, but there is a sorry-looking, dirty old mattress in one corner, a broken child-sized wooden chair, and a dilapidated old dresser. There seems to be a little shrine of sorts set up on that dresser and you both walk over to it. You're not sure if you should touch the sweater surrounded by candles - something about it seems sacred to you so instead you run your fingers lightly over the mangy-looking teddy bear and the little carved wooden horse. There is an old black and white photograph in a green frame with elephants painted on it, and you pick it up for a closer look. It's a little blurry, but you can still read the print on the little boy's t-shirt: _Camp Crystal Lake_. The boy looks perhaps ten years old or so, but you've never been very good at aging children. He is standing next to a totem pole and holding hands with a woman who's wearing an adult-version of the same t-shirt. Her blonde hair is done in an old-fashioned style, and the photo in general gives off a late-1950's to early-1960's vibe. The boy looks happy, but there is definitely something off about his face. You look closer and see smaller versions of those same lopsided eyes that are looking at you now, right here in this room. It's Jason as a little boy, and the woman next to him has to be his Mother. You look at the neatly-folded sweater - it's too large to have fit the boy in the photo, but it's too small to fit Jason now. It must have belonged to her.

"Is this you and your Mom?" you ask, and he nods. He looks wistful right now, contrasting sharply with the big grin on the face of the boy in the photograph. "She's very beautiful," you say, and it's true. You look at little Jason again. His nose isn't too misshapen, but his bald head is overlarge and a bit lumpy in places, just like today. His lips are contorted to one side even through his smile, and you can't tell how much of the craziness going on with his teeth is from deformity versus normal missing baby teeth. He's an odd-looking child for sure, but the simple joy on his face makes him incredibly endearing… like one of those dogs that's so ugly it's cute. "And you're a cutie-pie," you add. It's out-of-character for you to say something like that - usually you only call the goats such pet names - but the words slip out before you can stop them. A bit flustered with yourself, you move on. "You look so happy."

He lets out a soft sigh at that, and your heart twinges as you remember the stories: that this same pretty woman in the photo had lost her mind with grief and gone on a murderous rampage to avenge her little boy, which ended in getting her head sliced off with a machete. You wonder if it's a coincidence that same weapon became Jason's tool of choice later on. You turn over the frame, hoping for an exact date, but there's nothing there. You try to do some math in your head - how old is Jason now? He has to be in his sixties at the youngest. You're not sure precisely how old he was when he drowned. But considering he seems to be stuck in some sort of state between alive and dead and has suffered severe social isolation for decades, you're not sure if his technical age has much bearing on his personality, lived experiences or maturity level. You wouldn't exactly call him _delayed_ , and maybe it's just because he doesn't speak and is awkward about sex, but there is a sort of simple, childlike quality to him even now - and even despite being a homicidal maniac. Though actually that childishness does fit rather well with his murderous proclivities, paradoxical though it may sound. Children are prone to uncontrollable emotion, hyper-fixation and impulsive behavior, and that seems to sum up Jason's modus operandi pretty well. Not only that, but from what you can see of his body he doesn't appear to be in his sixties… if you had to guess, you'd say more like his late-thirties to to mid-forties. But who really knew?

Next you pick up a letter-sized piece of red construction paper, soft and a little frayed around the edges from age. You flip it over to find a white piece of paper mounted on it and a small handprint in blue paint. His name is written beneath it in crayon in a child's unpracticed hand, and you realize that he must have written it himself and that the little handprint belongs to him.

"Can you write?" you ask, excited by the possibility that perhaps this is a way you can communicate more effectively, but he shakes his head. That was so long ago, and he's had no use for writing since then so it's all faded from his mind. Plus he'd never been very good at it in the first place. Book learning had always been a struggle for him, a struggle that was made worse by the fact that he'd never gone to school. His Mommy had taught him things like that, but she had to work so much to support them that there was little time for it, and that little time they had was spent doing fun things together rather than frustrating him with tasks that he just couldn't seem to grasp no matter how hard he tried. He was sensitive and intuitive, but not academic. Unfortunately, sensitivity and intuition were not traits that other people around him seemed to value, and taunts like _slow_ and _stupid_ and _retard_ were frequent occurrences.

You're disappointed but shrug it off. You don't want to make him feel dumb or self-conscious, so you keep talking. "Look how little and cute you were." you smile, then without even thinking you take his hand in your own and hold it up next to the handprint on the paper to compare the two. His gloves are still in his pocket, and the skin of his hand is rough and a little bit cool to the touch. Its the first time you've touched bare skin to bare skin, but to your surprise you don't feel awkward about it at all. It just felt like the right thing to do in this moment. You don't care much for children - children grow up into adults, after all - but looking at these relics from his boyhood is actually rather sweet. "Not-so-little anymore, but you're still pretty cute." you smile again, and as he looks at the floor off to the side you are certain that he's blushing beneath his mask, if he's capable of it. You suddenly find that gently teasing him this way is more fun than you ever would have guessed. "Speaking of cuties, should we head back home to check on the kids?" you ask as you place the paper carefully back down on the dresser, and Jason nods. You don't want to let go of his hand as you walk towards the door, but it would be weird to hold hands all the way back to your house so once you step outside you give it a squeeze before finally releasing it. "Thank you for bringing me here," you say sincerely. You can't imagine that he has ever shown anyone this place, this part of his past, and the fact that he's shared it with you of all people is a heavy thing to wrap your head around. He looks down at you and nods, his eyes soft and warm and a little bit misty, and it takes all of your power to keep from hugging him.


	10. Chapter 10

Jason is busy turning the compost pile with the pitchfork on the day you come home from the feed store with a box full of chicks. He's taken to helping you with yard work and chores lately, and even though it deprives you of some of your exercise you let him do it because it seems to make him happy. Plus if you're honest, sometimes it's nice to have the chores done after an aggravating day of computer work - it gives you that much more time to enjoy a walk in the woods or play with the goats together. The compost pile has gotten quite large over the past year of manure and soiled bedding, and that pile is only about to get larger now that you're adding chickens to the mix. When he sees you coming he sticks the pitchfork upright into the compost pile with more force than is probably necessary, and you suddenly imagine him plunging it into somebody's stomach or chest - and for one sick second you consider asking him if he'd like to borrow it. Summertime is right around the corner, which means his hunting season is about to begin. He meets you by the chicken coop and you show him the box full of peeping little yellow fluff balls. "Aren't they cute?" you ask, and he nods. He definitely knows these are too fragile for him to risk touching yet and he watches as you place the chicks in a small sectioned-off area in the coop, give them food and water and turn on the heat lamp. You've discussed with him that these chicks will grow up to provide you with eggs, and that any extra roosters beyond the one required to make more chicks will end up as your dinner. You've also discussed with him that the two goat kids will be butchered for food in the fall because you don't want him to get so attached to them that it's overly upsetting when the time comes. While he feels sad about it, he understands that you need to eat and he remembers that he himself used to eat meat back when he needed food.

One balmy evening when you're sitting together on the porch watching the goats butt heads out in their outside pen, you hear a car drive past on the nearby road. You quickly look to Jason and he's looking right back at you, his previously relaxed posture now upright and rigid. He looks very serious and focused, like somewhere an _'on'_ switch got flipped and now he's in turbo-mode or something. "I know you have to go." you say, setting down your lemonade. He nods once, then without a second glance stands up and strides quickly down the porch steps and off into the woods. He's already radiating that hostile, intimidating energy and you shiver a bit, glad that you're not the target of that rage. You stay where you are, wondering if he'll stay away all summer like he did last year or if he'll come home after each killing session. Then with a jolt you realize that you just referred to your house as his _'home'_ , like he's your roommate returning from work or a business trip. Or your husband. That sudden, unbidden thought actually makes you blush but you shake it off and quickly go inside to do some light housecleaning… you need a distraction to get that ridiculous thought out of your head.

You don't see Jason for several weeks so you assume that means he prefers to be alone when working, even between kills. Just like last year, you hear the procession of cars and sirens on and off periodically and just like last year you keep a little closer to the perimeter of your property than usual, just to be safe. You miss him, but not as much as when he disappeared for much of last autumn and winter because at least this time you know what he's doing and that he will most certainly be coming back. You go about your business, always keeping one eye out for him and once the cars and sirens become less and less frequent you start to get excited - surely he'll be back soon. Then one day about three months into his absence you hear a gunshot ring through the trees, loud enough that it makes you jump. Another shot quickly follows and then a third, then everything goes quiet again. You'd paused right where you were after the first shot, the dehydrated bugs that you'd been sprinkling into the outdoor chicken pen still in your outstretched hand. Your brain runs through the possibilities: it seems unlikely that any irresponsible hunters are out there during the off-season, though it's always possible. There could have been an altercation between vacationers, perhaps some people who drank too much and got in a fight, or else just decided target practice in the woods would be a good idea. Jason doesn't use guns to kill people as far as you know… and the only other thing you can think of is that someone turned their gun on _him_. Anxiety rushes through you but you try not to get too worked-up. You're pretty sure that Jason is unkillable, though you don't know for absolute-100%-certain. You know that he's been injured by people over the years: you recall the trucker and waitress mentioning things like him winding up on the receiving end of axes, machetes and hunting knives and the like, but you don't know if he's ever been shot. You resume feeding the chicks - now starting to feather out into a sort of awkward poultry puberty - and try not to fret too much. He knows what he's doing. He's been doing it for decades. He's tough. He's probably unkillable. He'll be fine. But no matter how many times you run this refrain through your head you go to sleep uneasy and anxious.

A week and a half after you'd heard the gunshots he returns… and he's an absolute mess. You see him through your still-slightly-dirty kitchen window, moving in that slow, heavy, waterlogged-looking gait he sometimes has and you almost choke on your coffee. Throwing the mug into the sink, you hurry out to meet him. "Holy shit, are you okay?!" you gasp as you see the full extent of the damage: he's covered in mud and dried blood. His clothes look a little bit crispy, like they'd been soaking wet and then air-dried, and you can only imagine that means he's been in the lake recently. His worn old sweater was in pretty rough shape to begin with, but now there's a huge tear going across almost the entire front of it with blueish-blackish stains all down his chest and ribs that you realize is his blood - and when you look closer you see a deep, nasty-looking gash running across his chest beneath the tear. And on top of that, you see what look like two bullet holes, one in his stomach and one in his right deltoid. "Holy fuck," you say again, but he just shrugs. Getting cut and shot was nothing new for him, and while it was painful and slowed him down a bit he still managed to kill the entire group of frat boys who had done it so he feels satisfied. You, on the other hand, have gone into caretaker mode and start fussing over him like you do when one of the goats has birthing trouble. You try to convince him to come in the house, intending to tend to his wounds, but he shakes his head and doesn't budge. "Why not?" you ask, and he gestures down at himself. He thinks he's way too dirty to come in your house, he doesn't want to make a mess. Besides, he really doesn't need tending to, he always heals up just fine on his own. But you're not having it, and you're just as stubborn as he is. "Just take off your boots out here, we'll get you cleaned up. You're not staying outside or in the barn forever just because you're dirty, that's silly." So he sighs and obeys, kicking off his muddy boots and shrugging out of his tattered old jacket but you grab it and practically shove him inside. You realize you're being a little overbearing, but seeing him hurt is upsetting you more than you'd anticipated. He keeps gently redirecting your hand holding the antiseptic-soaked gauze that you're trying to wipe across the cut on his chest, because he feels far too shy to let you touch his bare skin there. Finally you give up on that front - you remind yourself that this is definitely not the first time he's been wounded and it's pretty unlikely that he keeps a first aid kit in that shack of his. Plus reanimated corpses or whatever he is probably can't get infections anyway. But maybe you can at least still tidy him up a little. Really the only way to get him remotely clean would be for him to take a shower while you wash his clothing, but you're not sure if he'd be open to that idea. He drowned, after all, so is he averse to being in the water? It looks like he'd recently been in the lake, but perhaps it wasn't by choice? Will he feel weird about showering in your house and letting you wash his clothes? Well, you won't know unless you ask.

"How do you feel about taking a shower while I wash your clothes?" He looks at you stunned for a second, then shrugs. He's not really too keen on the idea, but if that's what you want him to do then he'll do it. "Okay, great," you say happily, patting him gently on his arm, and that's close enough to praise for him to feel better about the idea already - plus he really doesn't want to have to stay outside or in the barn. He's been coming inside more and more since before summer began, and he doesn't want to stop when the solution is as simple as washing up a bit. He follows you down the hall to the bathroom, a little bit sheepishly, and once you flip on the light you realize there's a logistical problem: how to give him privacy (and not see him naked, the thought of which makes your face heat up a little) but still get his clothes washed. "Okay, I'll go away and you just toss your clothes out into the hallway, alright?" He nods. "And I'll wash them and get them dry as fast as I can, and when they're ready I'll leave them in the hallway and knock on the door, okay?" He nods again. "Okay perfect. Take your time!" You don't have anything remotely close to large enough to fit him, so he's going to have to stay in the bathroom until you've got his clothes washed and dried. He disappears behind the door and you go all the way back to the kitchen, wondering how long you should wait before going back to retrieve his clothes from the hall.

Jason begins undressing, but he's distracted and doing so rather slowly. This is a room in your house that he hasn't been in yet, and it's a deeply personal one and he feels like he really shouldn't be here… but again, you requested it, so he'll do it. The last time he was in a bathroom he'd smashed a victim's head against the tiles - one of his more personally satisfying kills - but now there is no bad person to focus on and he's stuck imagining you in this very bathroom, doing all of those human things that he hasn't done in a very, very long time. It's excruciatingly embarrassing but he tries to shake it off, and once he's undressed he peeks out of the door to make sure you're really gone, then drops his clothes on the floor and quickly retreats inside again. He avoids looking in the mirror above the sink but hesitates before stepping into the tub, considering if he should take off his mask to wash beneath it or not… but in the end he keeps it on. Surely just washing the blood and mud off of the mask itself will satisfy you - it's not like you're ever going to see him without it and he prefers not to remember that he even has a face beneath it. He turns on the shower and just stands there for a few minutes with the water hitting his chest, as he's far too tall for it to hit his head without him crouching down quite a bit. He stares at all the various soaps and bottles and isn't sure if he should use them or not. Will it bother you if he does? Would just rinsing off be good enough? Or are you expecting him to really wash? He supposes he might as well do a thorough job so you won't ask him to take another shower - his Mommy always told him to wash behind his ears and in his bellybutton, and if he didn't do a good job she'd make him do it again. He gingerly picks up the bar of soap and sniffs it. It smells like some sort of flowers that he doesn't know the name of. He opens up one of the bottles and sniffs it as well - this one smells a little less flowery at least. He tries the last bottle and it smells like something he can't quite place, but it's much less flowery than the rest so that's the one he chooses.

You carefully peek into the hallway when you hear the shower turn on and see the big wad of clothes on the floor. You hurry to pick them up and go straight to the washing machine and put it on the fastest setting, hoping that you have enough hot water to run both the shower and washer at the same time. You throw them in the highest, hottest dryer setting once they're washed, praying that it won't shrink anything because then you'll really be in trouble. By the time they're dry the shower's been turned off for some time, and then it dawns on you that you didn't tell him where to find the towels. You hope he's not just standing there in the tub soaking wet… but that's exactly what he's doing. You pull his clothes out of the dryer and hold up his sweater. The tear across it is huge and definitely needs repairing, but your sewing skills are nonexistent. Then you get a burst of inspiration: you can get him a new one. The idea of giving him a present that doesn't relate to killing makes you stupidly happy, and you hurry down the hall and knock on the bathroom door. "Hey Jason, your clothes are ready, I'll just put them on the floor out here. And the towels are in the cabinet above the toilet, use as many as you need, okay?" You can't see him nod, so you just hope he's heard you and you go back to the kitchen. After a few minutes he comes into the room looking about as neat and clean as a zombie in tattered clothing can get, and you're already eyeing him to try and estimate what size shirt might fit him. He looks a little uncomfortable so you give him a smile and say, "You look great! Now that you're all clean, do you wanna go in the living room and watch a movie or something?" Jason doesn't remember the last time he watched television or a movie and suddenly the shower was completely worth it. He nods and follows you into the living room, then sits in the same place he did the last time he was in here, smack in the middle of the loveseat. You grab the remote and sit in the armchair, and the two of you watch 80's horror movies until your bedtime since you think that genre might be up his alley. Jason automatically stands up to leave when you turn off the television, and once again you're torn about whether or not to invite him to stay… but just like last time, you can't quite muster up the courage to do it.


	11. Chapter 11

The leaves turn every warm shade from light yellow to dark reddish brown as autumn comes on strong, and the goats eat them as if they were potato chips when they drift into their pen. Even though it was silly because you live in the middle of the forest, last year you'd just purchased firewood because you didn't have the time to chop some yourself. But this year you're determined to do so, and the second Jason saw you in the middle of it he went back to his cabin and returned with his own (slightly blood-stained) hatchet. Between the two of you there's now an absolutely enormous stack of firewood and kindling piled up in the barn - you probably won't need to use the electric furnace at all for the entire winter… and possibly even the winter after that. Jason still spends time away every day, you imagine at his little shack to pay respects to his Mother and probably making the rounds for any last stragglers that come visit the lake. But he still spends hours with the goats and chickens each day, spends every lunch break with you and shares in the chores, and since that first movie night after he'd showered you've made movie night a regular event. He seems completely fascinated by every single thing you watch no matter the subject or quality, and you imagine it's likely because he probably hasn't seen a movie or show made after 1957.

Several days after you'd washed his existing clothes you went to the little department store in town, hoping that they'd have a shirt in his size. Fortunately they did have a small menswear section labeled _'big and tall'_ , but even their biggest and tallest looked like it would just barely fit him properly. You chose a sweater as close to the color and style of his ruined one as possible and presented it to him with your stomach in a knot, hoping he would like it - or at the very least not be offended or otherwise annoyed. He stood there slightly stunned, not quite able to comprehend right away that you were giving him yet another gift. But once it sunk in his gratitude was so great that he didn't know how to express it. Not for the first time, he wished he knew what to give you in return. But the best he could think of was to take your hand and give it a little squeeze like you'd done to his back when he'd shown you his home. He very rarely wears his gloves in the house anymore, and that simple touch made both of your hearts skip a beat, though you both did your best not to show it. The sweater ended up fitting him perfectly and now he wears it all the time - and even if you hadn't thrown out his old one he would wear it all the time anyway, just to show you how much he likes it.

The days grow shorter and the weather gets cooler, and the clock is ticking for the two kids, now big and strong and meaty. This is far and away your least favorite part of food animal husbandry, but you're committed to avoiding store-bought animal products as much as you can so after putting it off for as long as possible you tell Jason that today is the day. You set up a bucket full of grain on the other side of the property, as far from the barn and the other goats as you can get, then put a collar on one of the kids and lead him out to it. Jason is waiting there and holding your rifle, which he hands to you when you release the kid's collar. The kid immediately attacks the grain as if he's been starving for weeks, and it's at this stage of the process that you always tear up, every single time. "It breaks my heart to do it," you confess, and Jason's eyes follow the tear that trails down your cheek. He has never seen another person cry out of sympathy for another - only him and his Mommy, who had cried for each other. He's only ever seen others cry for themselves as they begged him to spare them, and their selfishness only hardened his resolve to fulfill his duty and silence their sniveling forever in a gurgle of blood or the snapping of bone.

"But that's the way life goes. At least it's quick and they live better lives than the ones who make the milk and meat you buy in the store. All creatures eventually die, some simply must do it sooner. I know you understand that." you say sadly, then realize that you're not sure if Jason can die anymore. You worry about your faux pas, hoping that you haven't offended him somehow, but he just nods. Yes, he understands all too well that some creatures die sooner than others, either justly or not. He watches as you aim the rifle at the top-back of the kid's head, right between the ears, and release the safety. Unaware and unafraid, the kid sticks his face in the bucket of grain once more and as soon as he lifts his head again, you pull the trigger.

The shot echoes through the trees and a nearby bird takes flight as the kid instantly drops to the ground. Jason doesn't flinch. The last bits of electricity run their course in a few twitches and jerks, and just like that the spark of life is gone. You wipe the tears from your eyes as you lean down to place your hand against his fur and murmur an apology, then set the rifle aside and pull your knife from its holster to begin the process of transforming the carcass into neatly wrapped pieces of meat for your freezer. The second kid follows once the first one is done, and Jason is a little surprised that neither Nan nor Billy seem to care much that their kids are missing. They bleat for a little bit right after the kids are led away, but they calm down after a few hours and just carry on like normal. You shrug. You know goats well, but there are some aspects of their psychology that not even you can explain. Maybe it's an evolutionary adaptation of prey animals - in the wild the likelihood is high that many of them will fall to a predator's appetite, so perhaps it's best not to get too attached after a certain point.

...

Yesterday's events have got Jason thinking about death. Specifically about the deaths that come sooner than others. Even though the majority of the people he kills are only in their teens, in Jason's opinion their deaths can never come too soon - bad people deserve to be punished. And while the goats didn't deserve to be punished and your killing them wasn't done with punishment in mind, the fact remains that their deaths came sooner than others: sooner than their parents, sooner than yours, and definitely sooner than his will be, if he ever dies… but perhaps not sooner than his death that had already happened. He doesn't know exactly how goat ages stack up against human ages. All he knows is that they were young, and that he was young.

He's sitting on your front porch waiting for you to finish work. He's done all the chores including putting hay in Nan and Billy's separate pens, because it's that time of year again and you told him that you'd be putting them back together next week - whenever that is - so they can make more babies. He looks at the trees, their leaves wilting and dying and falling to the ground, and he thinks about how in the spring the leaves come back again, fresh and new, just like the goats will. It's a whole cycle of life and death that he's never really thought about for a long, long time. For him there has only been death and rage, and he feels strangely left out somehow. His life was so short and his death is dragging on so long, and he wonders if it's ever going to end… if he's ever going to wither and fall like those leaves and never wake up again. But there is work to be done, for the bad people will keep coming and if he doesn't punish them, then who will? He hasn't gone back to the exact spot where he'd drowned since he first crawled back out of it, dripping and coughing as water drained from his mouth and nose, his now-dead heart throbbing with hate and revenge. He suddenly finds he wants to take you there, though he's not sure exactly why. After seeing you cry for those kids it just feels right to share it with you somehow. And friends are supposed to share things with one another, aren't they? Whether it's presents or feelings, and the only present he has to give you is a little bit more of himself.

You stand up and stretch after turning off your computer, your spine cracking a bit as the vertebrae pop back into alignment. You're not getting any younger, that's for sure. You stick your head out the front door to invite Jason in for dinner and a movie, but after you finish your meal he shakes his head when you move towards the living room. "What's wrong?" you ask as you return to him, even though he can't answer. He seems a bit somber as he reaches out for your hand and you accept, then walk back out of the house together. He lets go once you're outside, but you keep walking close beside him as he takes you down a path that you know about but haven't yet dared travel: the one that leads directly to the notorious camp itself. The sun is just beginning to set as you pass through the main entrance, and the old-fashioned sign definitely looks its age. The whole camp in fact has a somewhat run-down appearance and a melancholy sort of feel, and it seems like the kind of place that teens dare one another to stay at overnight, like a cemetery or old house that's rumored to be haunted. Only this one really is. Jason takes you right up to the lake itself and then out onto one of the docks. The wood's a bit slippery and there's an overturned canoe floating sadly in the water, just barely submerged. You both stop at the end and you look up to see Jason just gazing out across the water. Even though you can't see his eyes, his energy is subdued and a little bit sad, and you immediately know why he's brought you here.

"Is this where it happened?" you whisper, and he nods. You don't know what else to say, but it feels like a moment where no words are required. You take his hand in yours once more, and together you watch the sun turn the lake as orange and red as the leaves as it slips below the horizon.


	12. Chapter 12

Jason leads you back home, and you wonder how he's able to navigate so well through the dark forest. The moon is full but you'd still probably walk into trees or fall in a hole or break your neck tripping over a rock. It must be because he's probably traveled this path hundreds of times. You don't say a word as you reenter your cabin, but you both walk to your living room as is your evening custom now… only this time somehow you find yourself sitting next to him on the loveseat instead of in the armchair.

You think about what he's been through. While you'd faced off against death, he actually experienced it and came back out again on the other side irreparably changed. You can't even begin to imagine what it must be like to feel your lungs and stomach filling up with water, to feel your life draining away as you struggle and flail and cry out for help only to have silent bubbles escape your lips.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you. It shouldn't have happened. They should have been watching you, they should have helped. It must have been so awful." you say softly, the first words spoken since you were on the dock, and he gazes at you with deeply sad eyes. As usual he doesn't reply, but then he surprises you by bringing his hand up to your face and lightly tracing a rough fingertip down the length of the scar running from your forehead to your jaw. It's a startlingly intimate touch and the surprise at how good it feels makes you close your eyes. He instantly jerks his hand away as if he fears he's hurt you, but before you can think you take hold of it and bring it back to your cheek.

"It's okay, it doesn't hurt anymore," you reassure him, so he gently touches the scar again with his cool, calloused fingers. Your own fingers feel so small wrapped around his hand and you slide your thumb down against the inside of his wrist, curious to see if you'll find a pulse there. You're a bit surprised when you do - what exactly _are_ the rules governing his existence? If you were more of a scientist he would be fascinating to study, but you think that perhaps science has no explanation for what Jason is. He looks back into your eyes, and his own hold a questioning expression.

"A man did it," you answer. "With a broken bottle, because I wouldn't have sex with him."

Jason's questioning expression is wiped out by a flash of rage and you see his other hand ball into a fist. You're touched by his fury on your behalf, though you remember his issues with all things sex-related. Alarmingly, before you can stop yourself you wonder about his sexuality - if he has one at all, what it's like, and what it would be like to be with him that way. You've never slept with a man before, but that doesn't mean you're completely devoid of biological drives and desire - it's just that no man has ever gained your trust enough to even begin to want to explore that. You take care of yourself just fine when the need arises, and you are content with it. It feels good and there is no risk, no power struggles or imbalance to navigate. It's safe and it is satisfying enough for you. Fortunately before you can dwell any longer on wondering if Jason has those urges - and if so, how he takes care of them - his fingers trail down your neck to your sternum, just below your clavicle. This touch is even lighter as he strokes your damaged skin at the very top of the surgery scars.

"Cancer." you answer his unspoken question, and his rage is replaced by confusion. He's not familiar with the term, apparently, so you clarify: "I got sick and the doctors had to cut me open to take out the sickness, then sew me back up. You can see they didn't do a great job of it," you chuckle wryly, then pull the collar of your shirt down lower so he can see more of the scarring. Even though there isn't much of a breast left there anymore, he jerks his hand back again and his gaze darts away so you quickly pull your shirt back up. _Hang-ups,_ you remind yourself. Possibly even more hang-ups than you. You quickly turn the discussion around to focus on him again. "I'm also sorry about what they did to your Mother. She was only trying to help you, and keep other kids from getting hurt, too. She must have really, really loved you to do all that. So much."

He sighs and you look down at your hands in your lap for a bit, not knowing what else to say. After a moment you look up at him again and he's staring at you intensely now, like there's something he wants to ask but just can't find the words. Not for the first time you wish you knew if his muteness was by choice or not, but unless he suddenly starts speaking you're going to have to work with what he's giving you for now. You take a wild guess based on what you were just discussing. "My parents are dead, too. My Dad had a heart attack and my Mom got cancer, just like me. Only the doctors couldn't save her. They were pretty young when it happened, but not nearly as young as you were so it wasn't quite as sad. Plus I don't think they really loved me as much as your Mom loved you. Or if they did, they didn't really show it too well." You try to say it with a bit of wry humor, but instead it just makes you feel sad about it for the first time in a long time. Why had it been so hard for them to let people in? And why did they have to pass that trait on to you? Was this dysfunction in your DNA as well as in your upbringing? Jason's eyes are absolutely brimming with sympathy now and you realize that he's the first person you've ever confessed this secret fear to. Without meaning to, you're actually letting him in. Ironically, considering the mass-murderer thing, you can't really think of anyone safer to confess your fears and dysfunctions to. Clearly he has issues of his own, and it's not like he's going to run off and tell anyone else your problems. It suddenly feels like a pivotal moment - you're already sitting physically closer together than you ever have before, and the conversation you just had has you feeling closer to him emotionally as well. Judging by the look in those expressive eyes of his, you guess that he might be feeling similarly so you decide to take a chance.

"It's hard not having them here anymore, isn't it?" you ask softly, and when he nods you scoot even closer to him so the sides of your arms are pressed flush against one another. He doesn't move closer, but he doesn't pull away either so you stay where you are as well. "Wanna watch a movie?" you ask, exhausted from digging down so far into the past. He nods again, so you pick up the remote and select a spooky, atmospheric old horror movie from the 1930's. You tuck your legs beneath yourself to keep your feet warm, and just as you put the remote down and pull the throw blanket across your lap Jason scoots a tiny bit closer to you himself, so that your bent knees are pressing firmly into the side of his thigh. He's not looking at you but you can sense the tension in his body, as if he's just done something crazy and he's not sure how you're going to react. You feel a little anxious yourself, but being this close to him is exciting and feels so good that you power through your nerves and scoot in closer still, then lightly rest your head against his massive shoulder.

His new sweater is soft and he smells like the forest after it rains. It's a comforting, pleasant sort of smell… but when you inhale a little deeper you detect something else. Something a bit more human: the faint scent of sweat and a masculine sort of muskiness. It smells good. Attractive even, and you're glad that he doesn't smell like rotting flesh or something like that because while you're not squeamish, that isn't the sort of scent you'd prefer to cuddle up with on a regular basis. And considering the way he sighs and relaxes against you now, it seems that cuddling up with Jason might be something that happens on a regular basis from here on out… and to your surprise, that thought brings you joy.


	13. Chapter 13

Sitting snuggled up together on the loveseat does indeed become a regular routine after that. After you finish work and feed yourself and the animals you always find Jason waiting for you in the living room. Sometimes you watch movies, sometimes you read to him, and sometimes you just quietly watch the fire crackling in the hearth together. You teach him a few two-person card and board games that don't require speaking, reading or writing on his part, and you think about maybe picking up some sort of video-gaming system so you can play together. Awhile ago he saw you doodling in the little sketchbook that you've had for ages but barely use. You aren't much of an artist but had always intended to try and get better… but at the rate you were going it seemed unlikely to ever happen. So when you noticed his interest you asked him if he'd like to have it, and from then on when he isn't with you, out hunting or visiting his Mother, the goats or the chickens he spends a lot of time drawing. He's turned out to be remarkably great at it, and he often presents you with lovely sketches of the wilderness and wild animals, your cabin, the chickens and goats, and once he even sketched you. It was a pretty good likeness, and you actually appreciated the honesty in his portrait of you. Jason doesn't seem to be influenced much by societal standards of beauty and he didn't hold back when portraying the scar down your face or the lines at the corners of your eyes and mouth, but there was such earnest affection in his eyes when he showed it to you that somehow you felt like he thought you were beautiful. You stick his drawings to the fridge like a proud parent, and once you run out of room on the fridge you start pinning them up on the walls around the cabin. Every time he brings you a new one you thank him and compliment his work, and you can see from the way his eyes shine and how he stands up a bit taller that your praise means a lot to him. You take his hand in your own and give it a little squeeze each time after you take the paper from him, and now that he always takes his gloves off when he's in the house the feel of his bare hands is becoming more and more familiar.

You never realized how much you would crave that skin-on-skin contact with anyone until you began receiving it on a regular basis. You try to tell yourself that your compulsion to touch and be touched by him is just because you haven't had much of it in your life until now and that it's purely platonic in nature… but as the weeks wear on you finally admit to yourself that it's more than that. Eventually you begin holding hands during your evenings on the loveseat together, and then he starts creeping into your dreams at night. Your mind creates scenarios and sensations that you've never experienced in real life, sensations of Jason's large, rough hands roaming across every inch of your skin instead of only your hand, of him holding your entire body close against his broad chest with his impossibly strong arms… of him looming over you as he worships your body that has known so much pain and neglect, or of him gazing up at you with ecstasy and wonder in his dark hazel eyes as you ride him… that one is your favorite, and whenever your subconscious treats you to it you always wake up hot and bothered and wet between your legs. You feel like Nan when she's in heat and pining for Billy, but unlike Nan you stop short of screaming out loud how much you want Jason. You thank whatever god that might exist for granting you the ability to stave off those urges and are grateful that humans aren't programmed with an absolute biological imperative to be pregnant every year, unlike many unfortunate mammals. Being a mother sounds like the worst thing ever to you, but - assuming the chemotherapy hasn't killed all of your eggs - you can't help but wonder if Jason is even capable of getting you pregnant if your relationship somehow ever ended up going that far. It's a bizarre thought and you try not to think about it. _He's got hang-ups,_ you remind yourself. Even more than you do. It's never going to happen. So you refrain from getting yourself off when you wake up in that hot-and-bothered state and take a cold shower instead so you can still look him in the eyes when you greet him that day.

...

"Here, you pick," you say one winter evening, handing him the remote. He takes it and flips through the options on Netflix for a moment, and his final selection makes you raise your eyebrows in surprise. It's basically a straight-up chick-flick, and the cover art makes that fact very clear. "Really?" you ask him, unable to keep some humor out of your voice. He looks at you and shrugs as if to say, _'why not?'_ You look at the cover again. It _does_ feature a horse along with the man and woman who are obviously about two seconds away from kissing, so maybe he just wants to watch something with horses in it. "Alrighty, that works for me!" you laugh as you cuddle up close to him and take his hand like usual, and Jason presses the start button.

The landscapes and horses in the movie are indeed very beautiful. It's set on a ranch somewhere in the west, and the plot is so cliche and saccharine that it practically makes your teeth hurt: the standard sort of thing where a city gal and a cowboy fall in love and live happily ever after following a series of stupid misunderstandings and pointless drama. Even though it's corny and dumb, it's actually more enjoyable than you expected it would be and the end even gets you feeling a little bit emotional.

There is a tension in the air between you and Jason that's been building for some time now, and it becomes even thicker as the lead characters grow closer and closer on screen. When they kiss for the first time you can't keep yourself from glancing at him out of the corner of your eye… and to your shock, he's looking at you as well. You both quickly look back at the screen and your face burns because he caught you eyeing him during a romantic scene… but then you remind yourself that he was looking at you, too. It happens a second time. The third time it happens you start to feel a little ridiculous. You're not experienced with this sort of thing _at all_ , but you're not an idiot. You can read his eyes and body language well enough by now to know that he's not looking at you in order to make fun of the movie, and the only other explanation you can think of is that he's thinking about kissing you. Just like you're thinking about kissing him. When the end credits begin to roll you look up to find him watching you again and you can't stand it anymore. Summoning forth all of your bravery, you tilt your head up towards his face and lean a little closer to him. Your heart feels like it's going to punch its way right out of your chest and go sprinting across the room when he tilts his face down and moves his head a little closer to your level as well, so minutely that it's almost imperceptible. You've got to ask, got to know…

"Can we…? Is it…?" you whisper, not sure exactly how to phrase it. He doesn't move, but he seems to be begging for something with his eyes and at this point you think it's unlikely that he's begging for you to stop. Praying that you're not making a colossal mistake, you bring your slightly-shaky free hand up to his jaw and lean as close to his face as you can reach… and then Jason closes the gap between you. Your noses bump gently against one another, then you move your face to the side so you can rub your cheeks together instead. The mask isn't perfectly smooth, there are little dents and scrapes and much of it has a somewhat sandy texture from wear and tear over the years but it still feels incredible. You've never seen him without it, so it basically feels like you're kissing his face and you've never shared such an intimate touch with anyone before, mask or not. After nuzzling cheek-to-cheek for a few moments, you move your lips down to lightly kiss where his mouth should be and you can feel his shallow breathing through the air holes in the mask. You stroke his neck and then trail your hand down to his shoulder and chest, and eventually feel his hand that isn't clasping yours move slowly up your back as he wraps his arm around you. Being held by him feels even more wonderful than you imagined, and you've imagined it a lot. He's touching you gently, but you can still sense the power all that muscle contains and you've never felt so safe in your life. You suddenly never want him to let you go.

Jason feels like he's having some sort of out-of-body experience. He's been wanting to hold you like this for months, but didn't dare try it. He is a monster, after all, and he figured the best he could hope for was holding hands and sitting close together, because surely you wouldn't want more than that. He wasn't even sure if _he_ wanted more than that for a long time, since according to many movies you've watched together holding one another close like this usually leads to kissing, which can then lead to sex, and echoes of his Mommy telling him that sex is wrong still manage to whisper in the back of his mind from time to time despite all he's learned about it sometimes being okay. But lately that echo has been getting fainter and fainter, and his attraction to you has been growing stronger and stronger, and when he saw that man and woman kissing onscreen he just couldn't help but imagine what that might feel like. And now this is happening. He doesn't know how, but it is happening and it's incredible. Your hand is warm and smooth against his neck, then it drags down to rub his shoulder and chest and it gives him the courage to run his own hand up your back, trying to mimic your motions before wrapping his arm around you. You're so small and soft, so fragile, and for the first time in his existence he wants to use his strength to protect someone rather than destroy them. He can feel your breath against his lips through the air holes in the mask and for a tragic moment he wishes it wasn't in the way, wishes his face wasn't so repugnant so that he could kiss you directly… but it is what it is, and he's still amazed that you're touching him like this at all so that regret gets pushed to a far corner of his mind as your hand travels back up to his jaw.

You're fighting the urge to crawl right onto his lap, worried that might be going too far too fast. You still can't quite believe that he's okay with this, but as he nuzzles and caresses you with a little more confidence it seems clear that he's definitely okay with it. You savor this blissful, surreal moment that you never dared imagine would happen in your entire life - let alone with him - but then suddenly and obnoxiously the trailer for another movie starts playing and you both startle and break apart a bit. You feel breathless and warm and you want to throw your television right out into the snow for interrupting, but instead you fumble for the remote and turn it off. "Damn it, stupid Netflix," you grumble, then look back up at Jason. He looks a little bit stunned and seems to be breathless as well, but the mood has been jarred thanks to the interruption and you don't know how to start making out with him again. That thought actually almost makes you laugh - you're far from a teenager and the fact that you just used the term _'making out'_ is a little bit hilarious to you. Even though you don't know how to pick up where you left off, you're suddenly feeling giddy and finally can't help but giggle a little. Jason's dead heart instantly drops into his stomach, absolutely certain that you're laughing at him, but then you snuggle back up close and say with a huge smile, "That was nice, wasn't it?" and he exhales in relief. He personally feels that _'nice'_ is a bit of an understatement, but he nods, starting to feel a little giddy himself. "I want to do it again sometime. Do you?" He nods again, a little more vigorously this time, then wraps his arm back around you and pulls you in close against him again. You watch the fire together for awhile, enjoying the contact and both trying to process what just happened and where to go from here. A few hours later the fire dies out and you can't help but yawn, which Jason takes as his cue to leave, like usual. Much as he hates to do it, he carefully disentangles himself from you and stands, and like usual you stand as well to see him out. But this time when he reaches the front door you work up the nerve to gently grasp his upper arm and pull him down to you for one last nuzzle and kiss. "Goodnight," you say softly, and he looks just as bashful as you feel - but equally happy as well.

Jason makes his way through the snow and out to the barn with his heart fluttering pleasantly in a way that it never has before, either alive or dead. He's been dividing his nights between his cabin and your barn all winter, always leaving your house of his own volition after the movies end with a nod and a squeeze of your hand. Now that Nan is pregnant she and Billy are sharing the same pen again and Jason opens up the gate and sits down against the wall beside them. He can't stop thinking about everything that's happened and wondering what's going to happen next. His mind wanders back to those moments on the loveseat: of your small, soft hands on him, of you kissing his mask right over his mouth, of the feel of your body beneath his own hands… how is it possible that you want to do those things with him? Billy is snoring contentedly and Nan is chewing her cud, their soft, comforting sounds filling the cozy barn as he thinks. He'd accepted quite some time ago that yes, you are indeed his friend, but now it seems that you want to have the other category of relationship with him: not just friends, and certainly not parent-child… but that special one between a man and a woman who love each other. And unbelievable as it feels that you would want that with a monster like him, he knows that you wouldn't have touched him like that, wouldn't have told him that you liked it and wanted to do it again if it wasn't the truth. That wonderful thought makes him smile, and he gives both goats an affectionate scratch behind their ears before allowing himself to close his eyes and slip into that semi-conscious state to rest until morning, already excited to see you and hold you like that again.

As you lay in bed your thoughts are very similar, but there is also an edge to them that is slightly less-pure. You've never had much of a libido, probably because there was no one worth having one for, but over the last few months Jason has set your body aflame. You've been repressing those feelings to the best of your ability out of respect for the fact that he would surely never feel the same way… but after what you'd shared on the loveseat tonight it's like the floodgates have opened and you finally relent. Knowing that at least some of your physical feelings for him are reciprocated wipes away any sense of guilt you had about lusting for an uninterested person and you at last bring your hand down between your legs with a soft sigh. A new fantasy joins your existing dreams: of climbing right onto his lap like you'd wanted to do tonight and grinding on him until you come - and until he does as well. Your climax comes quickly and easily, and you sleep like the dead that night.


	14. Chapter 14

Movie nights have become even more enjoyable since the ice was broken between you and Jason, and as the ice outside begins warming and melting so does your heart. You're not sure exactly when it happened, it's been coming on so gradually for so long, but you think you've fallen in love with him. There can be no other explanation for the way he eases your mind, comforts your soul, warms your heart... and electrifies your body. Every evening now is spent much like that first one, holding one another close with plenty of nuzzles, kisses and caresses - sometimes you barely even watch the movie. Tonight is one of those nights, and you realize you're going to have to rewatch the previous three episodes of your current show because you have no idea what happened. Eventually you begin to feel sleepy, but you don't want to leave the comforting cocoon of his arms so you decide to take another chance. You'd been trying and failing to work up the guts to ask him to stay with you for ages now, worried that it might expose the depth of your feelings for him and send him running. But now that you know he reciprocates those feelings you decide to go for it, hoping that it's not pushing him too far.

"Do you want to stay here with me? Tonight?" He goes tense and you immediately back off. "Just to sleep, that's all. I just hate to think of you out in the cold." You wait for his response.

Jason's feeling extremely overwhelmed all of a sudden. It's _almost_ too much, but not enough to make him turn down your offer. He only tensed up because he can't believe you asked, and he's not sure what's expected of him and he doesn't want to disappoint you in any way. Where exactly do you want him to stay? Here in the living room? At the kitchen table? Somewhere else entirely? He nods a bit shyly and tries to relax, waiting for you to take the lead, and when you smile warmly up at him it soothes his nerves. He trusts you, even though he can hardly believe what's happening. Whatever you want him to do he'll do it, and he'll do it happily.

"Okay," you say, feeling just as shy as he looks, then force yourself to pull away from him and stand up. You expect him to follow you, but he just stays there on the loveseat - he's waiting for you to tell him what to do, as he so often does. It's almost too much pressure - you're just as brand new to this as he is, after all - but you're the one who made the offer so it's on you to set the guidelines. So you reach out your hand and he takes it, then you lead him down the hall to your bedroom with your heart fluttering between your ribs and your whole body buzzing with excitement. You were tired before, but now you're not sure how you're going to manage to get a wink of sleep tonight.

Jason stands awkwardly in the bedroom while you're in the bathroom brushing your teeth and changing into your pajamas. He's vacillating between panic and excitement, wondering if he'll be sleeping on the floor or if you're actually going to let him into your bed. He still can't quite figure out how this happened, how it is possible that he's standing in the home of a person he cares so deeply about and who cares for him in return. That two years ago he was three seconds away from slicing your skull in half with his machete, and now he's three seconds away from potentially sharing your bed. Just having someone to care about at _all_ is bizarre, and the fact that it's reciprocated is utterly incomprehensible at times. But now he can hardly remember a time without it… without you. You return from the bathroom, face washed and teeth cleaned and he watches nervously as you turn down the blankets, still waiting for guidance.

For your part you're trying to keep cool, but it's difficult. You've never shared your bed with anyone and it's only because you like sprawling out in your sleep that you even own a bed big enough for two. But Jason is a large man and this supposedly two-person mattress is going to be put to the test in that regard. You're suddenly finding it hard to speak, so you pat the mattress to indicate he belongs there before crawling into the other side. He takes a deep breath and sits down, then finally climbs all the way under the covers as well. It's a tight fit, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable. On the contrary, you relish the fact that you have no choice but to be snuggled close together again and you wiggle up against his side and sigh in contentment, your anxiety instantly dissolving. It's even nicer than being on the loveseat together, and before you know it you're fast asleep with your arm draped across his broad chest and breathing in his deliciously earthy, musky scent.

Jason is laying flat on his back, stiff as a board and staring up at the ceiling. He listens to your breathing begin to soften and slow, feels you relax against his side as you drift off to sleep. The minutes tick by and he begins to relax as well. This new intimacy is even better than everything that's come before it and he tilts his head down a bit to nuzzle his face into your sweet-smelling hair, gently enough not to wake you up. Then you make a soft little noise and stretch against him, your arm squeezing him a bit tighter and your leg creeping up over his hip, pressing the entire front of your body against him and hugging him as if he were a gigantic body pillow. His breathing gets quicker and his whole body feels warmer than it has since he was alive… and his eyes grow wide as that warmth seems to concentrate right between his legs. It has happened to him before, getting hard, but not very often and never from physical contact with another person - only randomly and seemingly unprovoked and he always tries to ignore it. When he was young his Mommy had told him it was normal and natural, but that good boys refrained from touching themselves there. But he's not a boy anymore - he is a man. And you're a woman. And while his Mommy had never explained to him the reasons for sex or where babies came from, watching the cycle of life through the goats had made him understand. And though she had whispered in his mind that such touching was bad, had told him to punish the teenagers who did it, he can no longer reconcile her claims with what he knows now to be true: that she had to have done it herself in order to give him life, that she must have loved his Daddy at some point. That the animals do it without shame and they are innocents, and that it creates their sweet babies who bring him such happiness. That even though he feels afraid right now, it somehow also feels right in addition to pleasurable. That when it comes from deep love instead of only shallow lust, it is okay… and that he loves you.  
That still doesn't answer the question of what he should do about it right in this moment, though. You're clearly still fast asleep, and even if you were awake he still wouldn't know what to do. He can only hope that you will, when the time comes. So for now he closes his eyes and doesn't move, tries not to stimulate it in any way, and just waits for it to subside before drifting off into his version of sleep as well.

Every night now Jason joins you in your bed, and every morning you enjoy some time holding and caressing and kissing one another, sometimes for only a few minutes, but sometimes for hours. He's enthusiastic and generous in his attentions to you, but he still seems to be holding back a bit and you want more. You're hopeful that he's maintaining the same intensity of touching just because he's shy and unsure of how to proceed, and not because he doesn't want more. You never imagined that you would be the dominant one in any romantic relationship - especially not with a man capable of such ferocity - but so far he's been submitting to you and following your lead, so any forward motion is going to have to be initiated by you. But even though it's still a bit of a struggle for you to be so assertive with your wants and needs, at the same time it makes you feel safe. Jason doesn't come on too strong like so many men, doesn't leer or make advances or force himself where he's not wanted. But he is very much wanted, and when the first day of spring arrives you finally decide to try and show him just how much.


	15. Chapter 15

****Author Note** - This version is edited down to be a *tiny* bit less explicit than the full version on AO3, but from here on out it gets pretty steamy! But there is still story and character growth scattered in there amongst the smut. :)**

You select a movie that you know to be particularly romantic, and while Jason's in his normal clothing like always you choose pajamas that should be particularly easy to remove, just in case you get lucky. About thirty minutes into the film and about ten minutes into your usual making out, you make your move. Your adrenal glands blast into hyperdrive as you bring your hands to his shoulders and pull yourself up and over onto his lap to straddle him like you've been wanting to do since the very first time you'd kissed. His hands latch onto your hips and you're expecting him to pick you up off of him and set you aside, but your assertiveness is exactly what he needed and he happily submits. You are showing him without a doubt that you really do want this with him, and the only explanation in his mind is that somehow - against all odds - you must love him. You aren't like the bad people who have the cheap kind of sex, and neither is he. So he gives himself over to the moment, letting you lead and letting himself do what his instincts are telling him to do.

After a few moments of passionate kisses and caresses you suddenly feel him begin stiffening against your ass as he shifts beneath you a little, and his breath catches a bit - as does your own. It's startling, but it's thrilling as well and Jason clutches your hips a little bit tighter, his expression mirroring your fear and excitement. He's waiting for your reaction, and it couldn't have been a better one: acting on pure instinct you grind down harder against him, biting your lip and closing your eyes. Jason actually whimpers at that, and the sound cuts straight to your core. It's difficult to tell through the layers of clothing, but he feels huge and it's a little bit frightening… but rubbing against him feels so good that you could probably come this way if given enough time. Unfortunately you don't get that time because Jason can't take it anymore - he's too overwhelmed, too overstimulated, and doing this on the loveseat with clothes on seems weird to him. He wants to do this the right way, the way that he thinks it's supposed to be done, the way it's been shown in some of the romantic movies you've watched together. So without warning he abruptly stands up and you squeak in surprise and wrap your arms and legs around him as much as you can when he lifts you right up with him.

He carries you quickly down the hall and into your bedroom and his sudden show of dominance actually turns you on even more. He sits down on the edge of your bed with you still in his lap, but before you can attack him with kisses again he places his hand on your belly and looks at you with a questioning, slightly-anxious expression. You're not sure what he's trying to communicate so you take a few guesses, only to be met by a shake of his head each time. Finally you ask, "Are you wondering if we'll make a baby if we do this?" and he nods. So he does want to go all the way, to actually have sex itself, but it seems that the prospect of parenthood is just as alarming to him as it is to you. "No." you answer and he relaxes, but the truth is that you're not really sure. You've never had your fertility tested post-cancer-treatment (or even pre-cancer, for that matter) and who knew if undead sperm was viable? But since at least some of Jason's mortal bodily functions seem to be intact it just might be possible. But you don't want to stop now, so if you and he go that far tonight then you'll grab a morning-after-pill tomorrow and then get on regular birth control right away. And possibly buy some condoms, just to be extra safe… he'll probably need the extra-large ones based on what you've felt so far, and the immature part of your mind giggles at that despite yourself.

Jason is certain that you would make a wonderful Mommy. But he's not sure that he would be a very good Daddy, so he's relieved to hear that the kind of sex you'll be having together is the just-for-fun kind and not the baby-creating kind. He wonders if somehow in another life somewhere, if he hadn't died and been resurrected through the power of vengeance but instead had grown up like a normal person, if things had been different, if maybe you still would have met and fallen in love and could have become parents together. It makes him a little sad to think of this past that never was and that future that can never be, but he pushes it out of his mind. Right here in the present he has you, and it is more than he ever hoped for and he is content.

Anxious though you may be, you're still more than ready to get this show on the road so you slide off of his lap to stand before him. You hesitate - your body is far from perfect, but somehow in your heart you feel that Jason won't care. You're no expert, but the way he looks at you, the way he touches you - the way he's looked at and touched you for so many months now - is impossible to misinterpret so you take one last deep breath and pull your pajama top over your head and throw it aside. And indeed, when your pajama pants and underwear finally fall to the floor there isn't the slightest hint of judgement in his gaze. Only a shy sort of wonder as his eyes flit between your body and the wall, too embarrassed to outright stare but too intrigued not to look. For your part you're nervous, but not nearly as nervous as you had expected to be considering he is the first man to see you naked - other than the doctors who had alternately torn apart and sewn up your broken body.

No words are necessary, you only watch as after a beat he shrugs out of his tattered jacket and brings his hands to the hem of his sweater. He fidgets with it a bit. He has seen many, many naked women (and men, for that matter) in his many years of killing. He has slaughtered countless young, nubile teenagers in the throes of their cheap, worthless fornication, but has never given their too-perfect bodies more attention than required to liberate them of their cheap, worthless lives. But you… you are different. Your scars and your shyness nearly match his own. Your inexperience and vulnerability are almost equal to his, as is the knowledge that this isn't cheap, isn't worthless, and his dead heart beats fast in his chest. Never had he thought there would be someone for him. No one else besides his Mother. He had never even had a friend, let alone anything more than that, and yet here you are, nearly as broken and lonely as himself. Almost as isolated and apart from humanity, just as distrusting of others. He can understand that, and he knows that you understand it as well. And that alone is what allows him to grip the edge of his sweater and lift, dragging the fabric across his mask and over his head to drop it onto the floor.

You suck in a shaky breath at the broad, scarred expanse of muscle that makes up the chest and torso of this man, this monster, who has somehow lumbered into your life and cracked the hard shell around your heart with the tip of a machete and a sweet, submissive gentleness. He has the body of a lumberjack or a farmhand, of a hardworking sailor from the old days when wooden ships were prone to sink in the perilous seas. He is thick and strong, but not defined in the same way as the men at the gym or on fitness magazines that tout _fifty ways to achieve perfect abs_ and who admonish you should _never skip leg day_. He is no Mr. Universe. He is the Killer of Camp Blood, the Monster that lurks deep in the woods, the Drowned Boy who came back for revenge. The Terrifying Shadow that can never die. He can only punish and hunt, they say, and those hunts and his rage are what made him grow up big and strong and keep him that way.

But they are wrong. He doesn't only punish and hunt. Yes, he does those things, but he also suffers relentlessly with a strength that only the most sensitive, tortured souls can know. Yes, he is a vengeful, undead killer, but he was also a sad, lonely boy who has grown up into a sad, lonely man, one who once upon a time had only wanted a normal, happy life. To be loved and to show love in return. Only his Mother had provided this love, and when his life was taken from him, when it was allowed to slip away thanks to the carelessness of those who were in charge of his safety he could stay in the lake, a bit restlessly, a bit wistfully, angry at the injustice but at least free from the torment of others... just as long as his Mommy loved him and avenged his death. She had made sure he was never forgotten, and she had made sure that no other child would meet their end at the bottom of that lake. But then. Then they had killed her and he had come back. He had to. Then it was his turn to avenge, his turn to make sure that no other child ended up in that lake with their hearts heavy with fear and their lungs full of water. There was nothing else, only pain and revenge, anger and loss… but now, there is this. There is you.

Slowly he stands and his thick fingers pluck nervously at the fastening of his pants. The last time anyone saw him naked is a bad memory: a forced bathing in the communal showers at camp. The teasing was just as bad there as it was outside of the shower, and once was enough as far as he was concerned… but unfortunately the counselors did not agree. But this is different. You are different, he reminds himself. Plus you are naked before him now and Jason is nothing if not fair in his mind, so he pushes the button through its hole and drags down the zipper. When the trousers fall to the floor he steps out of them and it's now your turn to try not to stare. He is flaccid now - he's too anxious to be otherwise - but even in this state he is large. Very large, just like the rest of him. You worry that you might not be able to take him if you make it that far, and you're glad that he clearly isn't about to force himself on - or in - you. Your relationship has moved glacially slow thus far and he's mostly followed your lead, and you're sure that trend will continue. That feeling of safety lets you go to him, and he opens his arms just wide enough to receive you before wrapping them around your back in a tender embrace.

He engulfs you completely, and even though his skin is a bit clammy and cool you feel warmth spread throughout your entire body. He sits back down on the bed with you sideways on his lap and you pet the exposed parts of his face and neck as if he were a beloved, obedient puppy. He stays silent as ever, but you can feel a rumble in his chest as if he is purring and you smile against his shoulder. You both start out a little tense, but just sitting here quietly, just holding each other like you've done so many times before soon calms you both. He nuzzles his face into your palm and you can practically feel him soaking up your affection. He's so starved for it. You both are, and he radiates affection right back that you hungrily absorb as well. Then it's just the sound of your breathing and the rise and fall of his chest against your body for some time before your fingertips move to the edge of his mask and trace lightly along the rim.

"Will you take it off?" you ask gently, and he goes tense again. "You don't have to," you quickly add, and in the back of your mind you find it a little bit funny that he's shown you his penis before showing you his face… but then you feel bad for finding it amusing. Clearly his face is a source of tremendous anxiety for him, as it had led to much of his childhood torment. You saw that blurry old photograph of him and his Mother, can tell from the unusual shape of his head and his off-set eyes that he is still deformed, but you don't know to quite what extent. But you don't care. You couldn't care any less, in fact, because you love him. You just want to see him, and you tell him so.

"I won't make you, but I do want to see you. I won't laugh or be scared or disgusted. I love you. You know that, right?" You speak just as gently as you're stroking his jaw, and you are gratified when he finally relaxes just a bit and nods very slightly. He takes a deep breath and turns his head to the side so the fastening of the mask is facing you, and you realize this is an invitation for you to remove it. You do so, softly and slowly but not so slowly as to drag out his anxiety. You unbuckle the straps and carefully pry the off-white fiberglass away from his face. It clings to his skin a bit before releasing - clearly it has not been removed for a very long time. You bring the mask down between your bodies and for the first time you take in the face of the one man you've let into your life.

There's no denying it, he is ugly. Extremely so, actually, and there is no doubt in your mind that his appearance would horrify and repulse anyone else who saw it. But you don't even flinch as your eyes roam over his mottled grey skin, his drooping right eye and what is left of his nose. His lips twist to the side like a more exaggerated version of your own, and they wouldn't have been able to completely cover his significant overbite if he tried. Jason doesn't make eye contact, instead he stares determinedly at the wall behind you. He doesn't seem ashamed or embarrassed, but rather resigned - he's expecting you to be horrified and is bracing himself for your revulsion. But no revulsion is there. Only acceptance. You came to terms with his unique physiology long ago, even if you don't quite understand whatever force is keeping him in this state between life and death, so you place the mask on the mattress off to the side and take his face in both of your hands. You don't say a word and you don't need to. Those familiar hazel eyes hesitantly meet yours at last, and you finally get to do what you've been wanting to do for ages now: you lean in and kiss him softly, right on his lopsided mouth. His reaction is slow, but when it comes it is as a flood of relief and a sizable amount of gratitude. You hate that he feels he needs to be grateful that someone would accept his face, but you can understand it and try to express with your touch that no gratitude is necessary on his part when it comes to you. There is also palpable disbelief there, as if he just can't quite believe this is happening, but it begins to melt away the longer you kiss him and soon one of his hands slides up your back to cradle the base of your skull. You think of how many other skulls he has crushed, how many bones he has shattered and necks he has snapped with this same strong hand and you kiss him even harder. You will always be safe with Jason to protect you, both your heart and your body. And while it doesn't seem like anything can destroy his body (short of perhaps being blown into pieces) at least you can protect his heart in return.

His other hand squeezes your waist a little bit more, but not too hard. By now he knows how much pressure to use and he keeps his superhuman strength in check. You break the kiss and gaze a little breathlessly at each other for a moment, then you lean in for another kiss which he accepts, and eventually he begins trying to kiss you back. It's awkward, your mutual inexperience and slightly skewed mouths presenting challenges that most others probably don't face, but neither of you have anything to compare it to so you soldier on. The gentle kisses and caresses grow a bit more bold as you explore one another, and you somehow feel both increasingly relaxed and excited at the same time. _Comfortable-yet-eager_ seem to be the right words to describe it, and you can tell by the way his attentions toward you are escalating that he's feeling the same way. The shape of your body, the scent of your hair, the feel of your skin and the taste of your mouth have awoken long-dormant nerve endings from his head to his toes, nerves that have been dulled from years of feeling and learning to tolerate only injury and pain. He is unkillable, but even he can still get hurt and need time to heal despite his thick skin and tough muscle. But now he feels sensitive and raw in the best way imaginable. He feels _alive_ again, and the soft curve of your ass pressing against his rapidly-growing erection and the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips beneath his hands has his entire body thrumming with need. The need to touch, to smell, to taste... to get even closer to you. As close as physically possible, as close as he can get. To show you how much he loves you, since he can't say it with words.

You scoot around on his lap until he is no longer trapped beneath you and can rub against the side of your thigh and hip instead… but it's still not good enough so you back off of him just enough to swing your leg around to straddle him again, and his entire body jerks involuntarily as he brushes against your soft inner thigh. You're not an expert on male anatomy by any means, but you're certain that he's definitely way above average. He seems to be fully hard now and you look into his bright, anxious eyes and ask, "Can I…?" Jason nods almost imperceptibly, so you reach down and he grunts when you take him in hand. "Is this okay?" you ask again, hoping that it is, for you're throbbing with desire between your own legs and touching him like this is so, so good. He manages a stuttering nod once more and you kiss him again, then look down to watch what your hand is doing. His erection is so huge that your fingertips don't have a prayer of meeting when wrapped around him but you try anyway, giving him an experimental little squeeze and a shuddering breath escapes him. While you don't really know for sure, in the back of your mind you suspect that he's probably not going to last much longer. But that's just fine with you. You have no expectations and you've never been big on penetration anyway. Your solitary dildo rarely saw use, but perhaps you should dig it out of storage and start practicing because Jason is much longer and at least twice as thick as that poor piece of silicone and maybe it might be nice to feel him inside of you someday without ending up walking funny for a week.

Indeed, it takes only a few more artless strokes and squeezes to send him over the edge. He thrusts into your hand and moans as he comes, and it's the loudest sound you have ever heard him make. _So he isn't completely mute_ , you think, and the sight and the weight of this moment nearly makes you come undone yourself. Right at this moment he looks both powerful and vulnerable, but soon the vulnerability takes over completely as his forehead gently meets yours while he recovers his breath.

"Was that good?" you inquire once his breathing has returned to normal, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. He looks as though he's just been transported to heaven and back, if such a place existed, and he nods so vigorously that you almost laugh. Then he takes your face in both of his massive hands and kisses you as passionately as he can, desperately trying to express how incredible you just made him feel. He's never experienced anything like it ever before, alive or dead, and he can't wait to feel it again… but first he wants to make sure that you feel just as good, too.

You can't ignore your own need anymore so you at last bring one hand down between your legs. You sigh in relief, and you're already so worked up that you know you won't last long, either. He stares fascinated at your fingers moving quickly against your sex, wanting to touch you but not knowing how. His openness makes your own heart blossom, still fragile and tender but so much stronger than it once was. These last two years have been like a marathon, gradually stretching and working at the brittle cage you'd built up around your heart for your whole life until it at last gave way. A few trace remnants remain, the broken pieces sitting heavily somewhere down deep around the bottom of your ribcage, but day by day you can feel them corroding away into nothing, just as surely and steadily as your lover is holding you now. Jason slides one palm up your inner thigh, coming close but not in the way of your hand. You know it's not fair because you just brought him to orgasm with your own hand, but you don't think you can quite handle him touching you that intimately yet. Plus you're on a roll, so instead you take hold of his other hand and bring it up to your left breast. You don't move his hand from your thigh, though, because you don't want him to think he's doing anything wrong… and you're sure that next time you'll be ready for his thick, rough fingers to explore you there. He seems to get the hint and softly massages your breast, his palm easily covering the entirety of it. Then after a moment he trails his hand across the span of your chest to the mangled mess on your right, and he caresses your scarred flesh so tenderly that it makes you want to cry.

"Jason," you whimper as your climax washes through you, gentle and light like ripples in a pond but the emotion behind it is as strong as his body holding you close. You tremble and pant as you slowly come down, and you feel like you're floating within the circle of his embrace. When you finally relax against his lap you snuggle yourself even closer to his chest and he nuzzles his face into your hair as your breathing slows. "That was so good. I never guessed it could be so good," you sigh in contented wonder, and you can't see his eyes close in rapture at the praise. Even though he feels like he didn't really do all that much, you are pleased with him, with how it felt to be with him like this and he sighs contentedly as well. He did a good job, and next time he's determined to do an even better job. He always wants to do a good job for you. Always, in every way.


	16. Chapter 16

You and Jason just sit there for several minutes with you on his lap with your face tucked against his neck and him nuzzling your hair. Finally he stands up, still holding you close, then deposits you gently onto your side of the bed properly before climbing in next to you. You just gaze at one another between soft kisses and sideways hugs for several minutes, enjoying the touch and post-orgasmic glow in the comfortable, companionable quiet that fills so much of your time together. After awhile Jason begins to feel re-energized and props himself up on one elbow so he can look down at you, and his hand that was softly massaging your lower back slides around to your thigh. He gives you a slightly shy, questioning expression, as if to ask if it's okay for him to touch you, and you nod and spread your legs a bit wider in invitation. Yes, it is very much okay for him to touch you now, your first orgasm with him having sufficiently shattered your self-consciousness in that regard. He looks so good looming over you, just as you'd imagined. Jason trails his hand up along your inner thigh to your center, then begins making little circles with his fingers, trying to mimic what he saw you do to yourself earlier, determined to be the one to make you feel amazing this time. He isn't clumsy, just unpracticed so you reach down to help him. "Like this," you instruct, crooking his index finger a bit and gently bending down the rest, then slide it against you before guiding him inside and you gasp at the pleasurable stretching of your inner walls. One of his fingers is easily thicker than two of your own and the rough texture of his skin is utterly delicious - much better than your own less-calloused fingers or the artificial smoothness of your lone sex toy. Jason's breath catches as his finger disappears into that silky, warm, wet place where babies come from and that seems to give you so much pleasure, then he glances back up at your face to watch your response.

"Mmm, yeah, that's nice…" you murmur and his confidence soars. You just hold him still for a bit while you adjust, then move his hand slowly for several moments before unbending another, and you whimper when that second thick digit slips inside. Your hips push up against his hand of their own accord and any sense of modesty or reservation is gone as you squirm beneath him, and when you force your eyes open you find his own studying you and your reactions intensely. You can see him etching this knowledge of how to touch you into his brain for future use, and it's yet another manifestation of his sweet, selfless nature and desire to please. You position his thumb against your clit and get him going in the rhythm and pressure that you like, and Jason figures it out and takes over quickly. You've known for a long time now that _'slow in the head'_ is definitely not an accurate assessment of him, and that knowledge is further solidified by how fast he's catching on now. Judging by the office gossip you've been unfortunate enough to overhear from your female former coworkers, you're willing to bet that he's probably already better in bed than the majority of much more experienced men. It seems that a desire to please and willingness to learn make all the difference… plus beautiful, loving eyes and a smokin' hot body certainly don't hurt either, you giggle to yourself as you drag your free hand down his strong chest. Then you bring it all together and get his fingers pumping gently in and out while still working his thumb and your eyes flutter shut as your head presses back into the pillow. "Oooh, Jason, yeah, just like that, that's perfect… that's so good…" you moan, your pelvis bucking up to meet his thrusting fingers without any conscious control on your part. Your praise, your obvious pleasure and the feel, sound and smell of your sex ratchets up Jason's own excitement and he starts to harden just thinking about how good it would probably feel to have your soft, slick body envelop him… but you're so small and so tight around even just his fingers that he's not sure how he's supposed to fit. But surely somehow he must, right? Otherwise how would babies be created? But he decides to let you be the one to decide that and focuses on getting you to that ecstatic place that he now knows exists by following your current instructions.

"Move your thumb a little faster, please…" you beg, and when he obeys you bring both your hands up to grip his biceps - he's definitely got you on track towards possibly one of the most intense orgasms of your life. You spread your legs even further apart as you writhe and twist beneath him and Jason's breath hitches at the sight, instincts he didn't know he had telling him that he belongs nestled between your thighs and buried inside of you as deeply as possible. He suddenly completely understands Billy's determination to get inside of Nan even when they're separated - Jason would tear the entire barn apart with his bare hands if that's what it took to get to you. "Jason… more, please… faster…" you plead, and he sucks in a harsh breath through his nose. Nobody has ever begged him for anything except to spare their worthless lives, and the feeling of power he's experiencing now is very different than the power he feels when murdering someone. You've lost the ability to form sentences by this point and all you can do is hang onto him tightly as your climax rears up and crashes into you so violently that you nearly black out. There is nothing gentle about this one as you arch and thrash against the immovable wall of his body, making the most undignified noises you've ever heard come out of your own mouth intermixed with his name. Then you grab his hand again and move it away when the stimulation becomes just too much. "Fuck… god, Jason, that was amazing. So, so good… you're so good at touching me already, sweetie…" you pant as you come down, then realize that you'd just called him _'sweetie'_. Apparently the goats aren't the only ones you enjoy calling pet names. The endearment is not lost on him either, and his face feels a little warm and his heart swells with pride as he leans down to kiss your open mouth and flushed cheeks. He's slightly overwhelmed by your orgasm - it was so intense that for one frightening moment he was afraid he'd hurt you somehow. But the way you sigh blissfully and start pressing little kisses all over his face convinces him that he didn't - as did all of your praise and compliments. Such approval only fuels his drive to make you feel as good as possible as much as possible and he tries to bring his hand back between your legs, but you clutch his wrist and move it away. You're still way too sensitive to be touched again yet, and besides - it's his turn now.

"Oh no you don't," you tease, "It's your turn, big boy." You push on his shoulders even though you don't have a chance of moving him - you're just trying to indicate that he should move onto his back. Jason gets the hint and rolls to the side, wrapping you in his arms and taking you with him so you end up on top of his chest and stomach. The bed creaks noisily under the sudden shift in weight and you giggle, wondering how long it will take the two of you to wear it out. It will be a worthy sacrifice. Having him beneath you is such a new, thrilling sensation, but you're positive that you'll never grow tired of feeling it. He's looking up at you with anticipation and excitement, wondering what you're going to do next and wondering if it's even possible for it to feel any better than what you've already done to him. You run your hands lightly over his ribs and chest, then lean down to kiss his jaw before whispering against his ear, "Show me what you like, how you want me to touch you. You made me feel so good, I want to make you feel good, too." He grips your hand - though not too hard - and even though he still feels a little shy about it he wraps your fingers around his cock. You experimentally trace your fingertips along the ridge between head and shaft, then run your thumb over the tip to see if he likes it, and by the way he shudders and grunts you guess that he does. He hardly knows himself how he likes to be touched, but he's learning fast. As you get a rhythm going his own hands fall away from yours to twist the sheets in his fists so hard that his knuckles nearly go white. "Do you like this?" you coo, suddenly feeling drunk off the power of having this huge beast of a man at your mercy. He whimpers and nods, and you decide to try kicking it up a notch. You scoot forward to crouch over him and the muscles of your thighs protest - crouching is not a position you usually hold for very long and you strongly suspect you'll be sore tomorrow, but you're certain that it will be worth it. Speaking of potentially sore muscles… you adjust your grip around him and tilt your pelvis, then slowly attempt to take him inside.

He makes a loud and desperate _"Hnnnggh…"_ sort of sound and his eyes squeeze shut as you gradually sink down onto him. You just might get him actually talking someday at this rate. His hips suddenly jerk up off of the bed, instinctively trying to push himself in deeper but you yelp and raise yourself up higher and press down on his hip with one hand.

"I'm sorry sweetie, but you've got to let me do all the moving. You're so big, you're gonna hurt me if you go in too fast." That snaps him out of it and his eyes pop open and he apologetically pets your thighs. The absolute last thing on earth he wants to do is hurt you, especially not like this, so he bites his lip and focuses his entire concentration on staying still despite the intense pleasure radiating from his crotch all the way to his toes. Your brow knits in concentration and you take deep, steadying breaths as you try to relax and adjust, but you can still only get a few inches of him inside of you before it's just too uncomfortable to tolerate. He's just so _thick_ \- not to mention long. More practice is definitely required, but for now you hope it will be enough for him and you brace yourself against his thigh with one hand and use your other to resume stroking the way you were before, trying to stimulate all of him that can't fit inside of you - yet. You suddenly make it a personal goal to be able to take all - or at least most - of him someday. He moans and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again to gaze up at you, heavy-lidded and pupils blown wide, lost in ecstasy. He looks even better beneath you than he did in your dreams and you rock your hips and squeeze your muscles around him as much as you can, trying to make him feel as good as possible. It has the desired effect: your body surrounding his sensitive flesh is already better than anything he ever could have possibly imagined and his breath comes in shuddering, uneven pants as his hands move up to your waist before sliding down to clutch your hips - though he's careful not to pull you down or control your movements in any way. Then you squeeze around him once more and that combined with a few more rolls of your hips sends him careening past the point of no return.

The tendons in his neck cord as he grits his teeth and _growls_ with the effort of staying still. He sounds feral and terrifying… but in a _good_ way, and it makes your spine tingle and your breath catch in your throat. His entire body tenses and his growl turns into a groan as his thighs tighten and his stomach clenches, and you once again take the time to admire his physique as he comes. Looks like you'll be getting that morning-after pill tomorrow after all. You keep stroking him until he grabs your hand and moves it away, and when his shuddering and twitching finally stills and he begins to soften inside of you, you raise yourself up higher until he slips out. How had you managed to go your entire life without this? _Because it wouldn't have been as good with anyone other than Jason_ , you think with a little smile as you drape yourself along the top of his body and he wraps his arms around you. You give him a little kiss on his chin and ask, "Was that good?" He meets your eyes and nods, and he looks positively blissed-out and intensely adorable. "You look so cute after you come," you smile, tracing your fingertips along his brow and cheekbone. "Well, you're cute all the time, but especially after you come. Such a cutie-pie." you gently tease him like you had so many months ago, and this time you can see the bluish blush spread across his face that you'd only guessed was there below the mask before. It's official: calling him pet names and watching him get all flustered is now your very favorite thing to do.


	17. Chapter 17

As you had suspected might end up being the case, pretty much every muscle from your vagina down is indeed sore the next day and you pick up some Ibuprofen along with your morning-after pill. It was still totally worth it, but you have to tell Jason you need to wait on trying to get him inside of you again for awhile so you can recover from the first attempt. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out!" you reassure him, but he couldn't care less about his own pleasure - he's just upset that his body caused you discomfort. Even though you normally avoid doctors you make an urgent appointment with a gynecologist to get on birth control, and you spend some time online researching good positions to try with a well-endowed partner. You hope that you don't end up getting fired for looking at questionable websites during your work breaks… but if you do get fired at least you'll have plenty of enjoyable activities to keep you busy in-between searching for a new job: in addition to you and Jason's experiments in the bedroom, the first clutch of chicks have hatched and the baby goats are due any day now.

Jason is hesitant to try again because he's still concerned about causing you pain, but you are determined. "I want to feel you inside me," you insist, "We just need to keep practicing and work up to it." The next thing you purchase is a bottle of lubricant - which you probably should have bought as soon as you suspected you might get to sleep with him - and it makes things go much, much more smoothly. You start out with him gently working and stretching you with his fingers until you can take three of them without any discomfort once you're warmed up enough. Then you both learn that it's even easier and more pleasurable for you to receive all three of his fingers if you orgasm first, so Jason focuses all of his creativity and single-mindedness on discovering every possible way to make you come without putting anything more than his tongue inside of you. Sometimes he spends so much time on foreplay that you have to order him to hurry it up, because keeping you teetering on the brink of climax eventually turns into torture. Then he tortures you some more by seeing how many times he can make you come in a row, and he only stops when you manage to grab ahold of his cock and force him to surrender. Jason may not be a sadist when it comes to killing his victims, but he sure does enjoy tormenting you into a flushed, moaning, shuddering mess.

The day after the kids are due, Jason pops his head into your office door and you recognize the excited look in his eyes. "Baby goat time?" you ask as you clock out of work, and he nods enthusiastically. By the time you get to the barn Nan's already delivered one baby boy and cleaned his face just enough for him to breathe before she goes back to work delivering a girl. "See, if Nan can push a bunch of babies out of her vagina then there's no reason I can't take you inside of mine." you say lightly as the second kid emerges, and Jason has to admit that you've got a point… but Nan doesn't seem like she's having much fun right now, and if you don't have fun with him inside of you then he'd rather not do it at all. But taking three of his fingers is easy and enjoyable for you by now, and intercourse is only one step above that. Feeling inspired by Nan's display of vaginal resilience, you decide to give it a try that very night.

Once you both finally come in from the barn you beckon him over to you. "I've been doing some research and I want to try again tonight." Jason immediately knows what you're referring to, and he tilts his head and gives you an uncertain look as he strokes his knuckles lightly along your cheek. You turn your head to kiss the back of his hand. "I think it will go well. We've gotten pretty good with your fingers, and I'm ready for the next step if you are." Jason nods - he's absolutely ready, but only if you are, too. You stand up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck and he bends down to kiss you, already getting excited… he just hopes you'll enjoy it more and not feel sore afterwards this time. You quickly shed your clothes and stumble over to the bed together, then once you're laying down you pull at his shoulders to coax him on top of you. After several minutes of making out you're feeling primed and ready to go. "Now let's do what we always do." you instruct, and Jason reaches for the lube and generously coats his fingers, then brings his hand between your legs. He's so good at touching you by now that your climax comes fast and Jason rides it out with you, sucking and nibbling little love bites into your neck while stroking your hair with his free hand.

"Mmm, that was good." you hum once you come down, and Jason will never tire of hearing those words from you. You drizzle some lube into your hand and give him a few quick strokes to get him slick and fully hard, then take hold of his hips to steer him between your thighs. You have to spread your legs wide to fit around his hips and waist, but you'd anticipated this and have been practicing stretches and yoga poses to the point where you can practically do the splits now. "Okay, I'm ready, let's see how far in you can get. Just please go slow, sweetheart." Jason nods vigorously, assuring you that he will, and you reach down to get him in position. He pushes into you so slowly that he's hardly moving, and despite yourself you almost laugh at how absurdly careful he's being. It's definitely appreciated, though, and your eyelids flutter closed and you both moan in pleasure as he inches in deeper. When he makes it halfway in he stops for a moment to check how you're doing. "So far, so good, huh?" you say a little breathlessly, and he nods and keeps going. About two-thirds of the way in he bumps against your cervix and that's it - that's as deep as your body goes and that's the farthest he can get. That's more than enough for him, however, and his eyes scrunch closed and he tries not to move as he takes deep, steadying breaths through his nose as your inner muscles squeeze around him. "Okay," you say a little shakily after a moment - you've never been so full and it's distracting, but fuck, it feels so good. "Now we know how deep you can get. That's good information to have." He manages to nod and open his eyes again, then looks down at where you're joined to help him memorize exactly how much you can take so he'll never go in too deep and risk hurting you. It looks just as amazing as it feels, and he has to work hard to keep from coming immediately just from the sight.

"Alright," you continue, your distracted mind running through the options that your internet research had suggested. "Now pull out and let's try it like this: you lay on your side facing me, and I'll face you." He obeys, and once he's in position you scoot up close and drape your leg up over his hip to open yourself to him, then guide him back inside of you. His first few shallow thrusts are tentative and gentle, going in a little bit deeper each time as you encourage him. "You can move more, I'm okay." you tell him, so he thrusts a little more firmly, a little more quickly, and it feels so good that he can't hold in his moans. "Yeah, that feels good, sweetie… that feels so good. You feel so good inside me," you breathe, and Jason's forehead meets yours as he lets his self restraint relax more. It turns out to be a perfect position, not only because of the intimacy of facing one another and being able to gaze into each others eyes, but also because it prevents him from going all the way in even if he tried. "You can do it a little more, a little faster, it feels good…" you whimper, feeling your second orgasm building and you bring your hand down to start rubbing your clit. Your permission and the sight of you touching yourself finally allows him to let go, and after only a few more quick and choppy thrusts he goes stiff and with a guttural groan comes inside of you harder than he's ever come before. He clutches your thigh that's draped over his hip with one big hand and squeezes, grunting and whimpering, and the noises he's making and the sensation of him finally filling you up again makes you rub yourself faster and harder. It's too much, too good, and your eyes roll back in your head and you bear down on him as your climax ripples out from where he's buried inside of you down to your toes. "Fuck, Jason, you're so big, it's so good…" you gasp, and he groans in reply. The last time you said he was big it was to tell him to stop moving, but now you're telling him he's big like it's a good thing and he couldn't be happier. He always wants to make you feel good, and being able to accomplish that while feeling so amazing himself is the best news he's heard in a long time.

You stay wrapped around one another, kissing and caressing until he goes soft inside of you, and when he finally pulls out completely you moan quietly at the loss. There's a dull ache between your legs, but in a pleasant sort of way and Jason gives you a concerned and questioning look, then brings his hand down to cup it lightly over your mound - not to stimulate but to try and soothe any potential soreness. You _seemed_ like you enjoyed it but he needs to make sure, needs to hear you say it… "I knew it would go well," you hum contentedly, then bring your own hand down to rest over his. "I feel great, don't worry. That was incredible… was it good for you, too?" Jason actually chuckles at that, both from relief that you're okay and amusement that you'd even feel like you had to ask him if it was good. Even if he could speak, he doesn't know any words sufficient to describe just how good it was so instead he nods and pulls you flush against him in a tight - but not too tight - hug. You want to fall asleep right here in his arms, but there's an absolute mess between your legs and it's starting to feel a little gross. "I gotta pee, I'll be right back," you say, so he unwinds his arms from around you and watches you walk to the bathroom. That dull ache is definitely there, but you try not to walk weird and make him worry - the last thing you want is for him to revert to his prior hesitation about engaging in actual intercourse. Once you get cleaned up you crawl back into bed next to him and Jason reaches over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand before wrapping you up in his arms again. "I love you, you know that?" you murmur quietly, tracing light little patterns on his chest with your fingertips as you feel the heavy blanket of sleep begin to envelop you. It feels just as strange - but just as wonderful - for you to say those words as it is for him to hear them. You never thought you would ever tell another person that you loved them, and Jason never thought he would be told he was loved by another living soul ever again after his Mommy had died. He sighs happily and squeezes one arm between you to rest his palm over your heart. He loves you, too. So, so very much.


	18. Chapter 18

Humming a little song to yourself, you crack two homegrown eggs into a mixing bowl and turn on the electric beaters. You're not much of a gourmet cook, but you do like to make the effort during Christmas and your birthday to bake yourself a little festive something-or-other. And since today is your birthday, you're attempting a batch of chocolate cupcakes with rich, cream-cheese-based frosting. You don't have a lot of ties with your family - most of them are dead, and even when they were alive you rarely got together except for funerals - but you did manage to acquire a few recipes from your late grandmother, who was an excellent cook. This recipe is one of them, and just as you're pouring the batter into the cupcake tray Jason wanders into the kitchen with yet another sketch to present you with.

You tilt your cheek up towards him and he leans down and lifts up his mask so he can give you a little kiss. "Hey sweetheart, what've you got there?" you ask as you set down the mixing bowl and wipe your hands on your apron. He holds up a pencil drawing of this years kids head-butting each other. It's extremely good, as are all of Jason's drawings. He's captured the feel and the movement of playful baby goats in a way that can only come from hours and hours spent observing them firsthand. You suddenly think that you should buy him some colored pencils to see if he'd like to expand his artistic repertoire… perhaps as a gift this Christmas. "That's so beautiful, Jason! You've really got them down perfectly, it's incredible. You're sooooo talented at drawing!" He stands up taller and even puffs out his chest a little bit, and you can see him practically bursting with pride. He looks like a child who's just brought home a straight-A report card or won a blue ribbon for his artwork in the county fair, and your heart bubbles over with affection for him. He's just too damn adorable.

"Let me just put these in the oven and I'll find a good spot to hang up your drawing. It's so cute, I want to put it somewhere I can see it all the time." you say, and when you pick up the cupcake tray Jason tilts his head curiously and points at it. You look down at it as well - surely Jason knows what cupcakes are? You realize he died when he was quite young, but if he'd never eaten a cupcake in that brief time then that would be yet another tragedy in an already tragic life. "Have you eaten a cupcake before?" you ask, and happily he nods. He remembers his Mommy giving him a cupcake for one of his birthdays - it was so delicious, and the little rainbow sprinkles on top were his favorite part. _Thank god for small favors, at least_ , you think to yourself. So what else could he be confused about right now? You realize that this is probably the first time he's seen you bake something like this, so perhaps he wonders why you're making them. "Today is my birthday, so I just felt like making something a little special to mark the occasion." you explain, and Jason's eyes go wide. It's your birthday! He remembers enough about birthdays to know that there are two very important requirements: a cake and presents. It looks like you're taking care of the cake part, which is probably for the best since he can't bake. He supposes that it might be possible for him to go to town and break into a bakery to steal one (and maybe fit in a few more murders as well…) but leaving his territory is a sure-fire way to end up getting hurt way more than even he prefers. He also knows by now how much it upsets you to see him hurt, so he tries to minimize the risks of that happening for your sake.

But that still leaves the presents part of having a birthday. And while he can let slide the fact that you're baking your own cake, he can't tolerate the idea of you having to get yourself your own present. What was the point of that? That defeats the entire purpose of a present, in his opinion. As you close the oven door and set the timer, he's wracking his brain for something he can give you. He brings you drawings all the time, but this time he wants to do something special… something he hasn't given you before. But what? He suddenly feels extremely frustrated, but tries not to show it in case you misinterpret his frustration somehow. So instead he slides his mask back down into place and nods before opening his arms in an invitation for a hug. "Thank you, sweetie," you smile as you accept his hug. Being hugged by Jason is one of the best feelings in the whole wide world - his arms are so big and strong but wrap around you so gently, and he's so thick that your fingertips can't touch when you wrap your own arms around his torso. Plus he smells fantastic, and you smoosh your face into his chest for a nice, deep inhale. Now that the two of you are having some sort of sexual or otherwise intimate interaction every day, Jason has started taking showers as often as you do - and often at the same time as you, as well. While he still smells of the forest and earth and lake (which is pleasant enough as it is), his own unique, masculine, more-human scent has become much more prominent - and much more attractive as well.

After you hang up his latest drawing he gives you another nod and squeezes your hand, then heads back outside. "See you later, love!" you call after him before going back inside. He's probably off to visit his Mother's grave as he does every day, so you sit down at the kitchen table with a book and your coffee to keep an eye on the cupcakes. But when you open up the book you wind up just staring at the first page, lost in thought. When is Jason's birthday? You now know the date of his drowning thanks to the newspaper archives at the local library, but those same articles never mentioned his birthdate. Does he even remember himself? And even if he does, how could he possibly communicate to you when it is considering he can't read, write or speak? Even if you showed him a calendar he couldn't point to the date for those reasons. You sit there thinking as you sip your coffee. How much fun would it be to throw him a birthday party? Despite being an absolute beast in the bedroom (in the best way possible) and an absolute brute to his victims, Jason is very childlike in many ways and you can't help but think that having his birthday celebrated would make him very happy, indeed. You could just randomly decide on a day and announce that is when you'll be celebrating his birthday from here on out, but that just doesn't feel authentic or satisfying. Suddenly you figure out the solution: it might take some time, but you'll just verbally run through every single date of the year, all 365 of them, until he nods. You smile to yourself, already making plans for this future party.

Out in the forest, Jason is feeling incredibly frustrated as he paces along one of the paths, thinking so hard that it hurts his head. What can he possibly give you as a birthday gift? He has nothing to give you but his heart, soul and body, and he already gives you those things every day… plus you can't wrap up a heart or soul in a box and put a ribbon on it. He supposes he could put a ribbon on his body, but that just sounds weird. And on top of that, he doesn't even own any boxes or ribbons anyway. He stops in front of a tree, closes his eyes and thuds his forehead once against the bark in frustration. When he opens his eyes again he's staring straight down at a little clump of pretty wildflowers growing at the base of the tree and it suddenly dawns on him - you love nature, both animals and plants, and when the two of you take walks together you often point out and tell him the names of many of the plants and flowers that you pass by. And now that he's thinking about it, he vaguely remembers his Mommy sometimes putting a vase of flowers in the windowsill or on the kitchen table. Maybe he could bring you some flowers to put on your table or windowsill? It's not much, but at least it's something. Then he suddenly worries that maybe you would be sad if he killed flowers? But you don't seem to mind that he kills people… and besides that, his Mommy never did anything bad so if she picked flowers then clearly it was okay. His mind made up, Jason bends to gently pluck the little clump of flowers from the ground and continues along the path to search for more, starting to feel excited and hopeful that perhaps this will make you happy, will help you realize how special you are to him.

He returns just before dinner like usual, and you smile when you hear the front door open and close. Even though Jason doesn't eat, he always sits at the table with you while you do so you can enjoy one another's company. "Hi, sweethe-" you begin, but your word is cut off with a tiny surprised gasp. Jason is standing in the kitchen doorway holding one of the five-gallon buckets that you use for various farm chores, only this one is filled to overflowing with wildflowers - and a few weeds as well. He holds it out to you just as he does with his drawings, and the look in his eyes is equal parts affection and nervousness. He's not sure how you're going to respond to his present. "Are those for me?" you exclaim, absolutely delighted. Jason nods, a little bit shyly, and holds them out even closer to you. "For my birthday?" you ask as you walk towards him to accept the bucket, and he nods again. "Thank you so much, sweetheart, that's so thoughtful of you! They're so beautiful, I absolutely love them!" Relief washes through him and he lifts up his mask and bends down to kiss you as you take the bucket of flowers. You can't keep the big, stupid grin off of your face as you sit it squarely in the middle of the kitchen table. It's an absurdly large bouquet, and while the fact that it's approximately 30% weeds and is in a big blue plastic bucket that most likely has some dried manure stuck to the bottom of it would probably put off a lot of people, to you it's absolutely perfect. It's big and unrefined and slightly awkward like Jason himself, but just as lovely and sweet as well… and the feeling behind this simple offering is way more heartfelt than any cold, expensive, professionally-prepared dozen roses could ever be. "What did I ever do to deserve such a wonderful, loving, handsome man like you?" you say sweetly, and Jason stands up a little taller before walking over to you to wrap his arms around you and nuzzle his face into your hair. He thinks you are the most wonderful, loveliest, most beautiful woman in the whole world - who isn't his Mommy - and in his opinion you deserve the very best just by existing. He doesn't understand why someone as wonderful as you has chosen him, but he's always striving to make sure that you don't regret your choice.

You grab the largest measuring cup you have to fill up the bucket with water - Jason's forgotten that little detail - before sitting down together while you eat your pasta with homemade goat meatballs. You eat with one hand tonight, because Jason can't seem to let go of your other one and keeps gazing at you with soft, completely-infatuated eyes behind his hockey mask. He takes it off when you're in the shower together or making love, but beyond that he keeps it on. So far you haven't questioned him about it, assuming (correctly) that he still feels self-conscious about his deformities. But despite the fact that he's quite conventionally ugly, you wish he felt comfortable enough with you to keep it off all the time… or at least when he's not out hunting. You feel a little bad about this potential abuse of your power, but right now he seems so exceptionally enthralled by you - and therefore perhaps more susceptible to suggestion - that you decide to make a request: "How would you feel about taking off your mask when we eat and watch T.V. together, sweetie?" His eyes immediately dart down to the table, but then back up to yours as he shrugs. While it's true he takes it off when in the shower and bedroom, that's only because he wants to be able to kiss you and feel your skin and hair directly against his face… and while he knows by now that you love him, it's still hard for him to be seen without that protective fiberglass shield. Why would you want to look at him? No matter how much you may love him, that doesn't make him any less ugly. His uneasiness is palpable, so you try to talk him down: "I love you. And that means every part of you. Every single part of you is handsome to me, and every single part of you makes me feel good." He shrugs and looks back at the table again, but you can tell his resistance is breaking down a bit. You give him a mischievous little smile and add, "Some parts of you make me feel especially good, but I'm not going to ask you to walk around with no pants on. So how about you take off your mask for me instead? That would make me so happy, sweetheart." It takes Jason a second to realize your innuendo, but when he does his face feels like it's been lit on fire. He thinks he'd actually rather walk around with no pants instead of his mask, but he's incapable of refusing what he interprets as a direct order from you - even though that wasn't your intention - so at last he nods. He doesn't understand why this would make you happy, but making you happy is the most important thing in the world to him, outside of punishing bad people for his Mommy. He lets go of your hand so he can reach up to unbuckle and remove the mask, and you smile reassuringly at him. "Thank you, Jason, I love looking at you even more than I love these beautiful flowers you brought me. You're so handsome to me. This is the best birthday present ever, thank you." He gives you a self-conscious little smile and you beam at him. "See, I love being able to see you smile at me. I love to see you happy." He smiles even more at that, then takes your hand in his again while you finish your meal.

Jason always helps with the dishes now, so as you stand at the sink together - you washing, him drying - you enact Operation Birthday Date Discovery: "Jason, love, do you know when your birthday is?" you ask, and happily he nods. "Great! Can I ask you and you tell me when I get it right?" He nods again, starting to feel a little excited. He can't believe you asked, can't remember the last time anyone cared about his birthday, and right at this moment he loves you so much that he would throw his mask right into the fireplace if you asked him to… though he hopes you won't. You start on January first, and it actually doesn't take as long as you'd anticipated for you to run through the dates until you reach the correct day. "June thirteenth?" you ask at last, and Jason nods. "That's only in about two months! I'd better get started on planning your party right now." you smile at him, and Jason actually gives you a big, toothy, genuine grin at that. He suddenly looks about ten years old again, just like that child in the blurry old photograph on his dresser shrine. You laugh affectionately and pop open the container where you'd stored the cupcakes, and suddenly you're both sharing the same thought: can he eat one of them with you? Jason has been wondering this about himself ever since you made your lunch in front of him for the very first time, but back then he was too shy to take off his mask. But now… maybe he could try it? You see him looking at them with an odd, pondering sort of expression, so you ask, "Do you want to try one?" He hesitates for only a second, then nods. You hand him one before taking one for yourself, then look each other right in the eyes as you both take a bite at the same time. You watch him chew for a moment and then swallow, and his eyes close in what you hope is bliss. "How is it? Does it taste okay?" you ask a little sheepishly. You like to think that you're at least competent in the kitchen, but you recognize that you're no professional. And if Jason's mother worked as a cook at Camp Crystal Lake, perhaps she was an amazing chef… so what if your efforts don't match up to Jason's memories or expectations of food? But your worries are needless, because Jason is indeed in bliss. The feel and taste of the cupcake is sending him flashing right back to that birthday cupcake he'd had so, so long ago, and yours just as delicious as the one his Mommy gave him. All it's missing is the sprinkles, but that doesn't matter. Just the fact that he's eating anything is amazing on it's own - he'd forgotten how pleasurable it is to eat something delicious. And on top of that, to be eating something made by the person he loves is better than all of the sprinkles in the world.

He opens his eyes again and nods enthusiastically, then takes another giant bite. You grin and grab a plate and pile it up high with the cupcakes, then lead him to the living room to watch a movie and eat your birthday goodies together. Something tells you that these cupcakes aren't going to last very long between the two of you, and that's just fine. It's more than fine. It's wonderful.


	19. Chapter 19

Summertime is rapidly approaching, and you watch Jason prepare for his busy season: stockpiling and sharpening various weapons and making his preliminary rounds for any early arrivals. Unhealthy though it may be, you can't help but find it a little bit sexy. It's the one time he's really focused on something other than you or the animals, and it's his very reason for existing. This year you decided to go ahead and offer to loan him the pitchfork, and he accepted with a little smile and a squeeze of your shoulder - it's been years since he last used a pitchfork to kill someone. He took it from you and hurled it like a javelin into the compost pile almost twenty feet away, and imagining him flinging it into the back of an intruder instead makes your skin tingle a little.

Jason is away when you hear the first car go whizzing down the road, so you don't expect to see him again for quite some time. Summer has always been your favorite season but you're starting to dislike it more and more since it means spending months apart from him… but to your absolute delight, he returns that evening just as you're sitting down for your solitary dinner. "You're back!" you say happily as you stand up to greet him, and he nods as he takes off his mask and sets it on the kitchen counter as if it was his work briefcase or something. He no longer wears it unless he's outside, and you hurry to heat up a plate of food for him since he enjoys eating with you now even though he doesn't require it. "Did everything go okay? Did you kill them?" You're so used to his job by now that you may as well be asking him how an important presentation went rather than one or more murders. "How many were there?" you ask as he nods and sits down at the table, and he holds up two fingers. "Did you use the pitchfork?" He shakes his head. "Your machete? The meat cleaver?" He shakes his head at each of your guesses. "Did you smack them with a tree or something?" Jason chuckles at that even as he shakes his head. One time he swung a bad girl in a sleeping bag against a tree, and it was one of his more satisfying kills that he wishes he could tell you about. "Did you just do it with your bare hands?" you ask, trying not to admit to yourself that you find that method a bit sexier than the others. Finally he nods, looking quite satisfied with himself as you set the warm plate in front of him. You're ecstatic that it seems he might start coming home between kills instead of staying away all summer, and you keep pressing him for all the gruesome details. You recognize that it's messed up, but you can't help yourself - you're just so happy to be interacting with him when you hadn't been expecting it, plus you're morbidly curious. You've always been a bit morbidly curious, and you're sure that's part of why you and Jason are so compatible. For his part, Jason is surprised and pleased by your interest. While you've never seemed to be bothered by his job, this is the first time you've really asked him for details and it makes him feel proud that someone recognizes how important it is for him to punish all the bad people who invade his land and remind him of his death and the loss of his Mommy... the bad people who force him to fulfill the final task she had given him. After dinner he heads to the bathroom to wash up a bit. He's learned to enjoy showers (especially when you're taking one with him) because you've told him how much you love his natural scent and the feel of his skin when he's not all covered in dirt or blood. He finds you waiting for him on the loveseat in your pajamas, the same ones you'd worn on the first night you made love together. They're his favorite. He sits down beside you and you snuggle up close to him. "I'm so glad you came back tonight. I know you have a job to do, but I miss you when you're away. I hope you'll come home whenever you're able to." He nods and pulls you in for a passionate kiss, and the movie you'd chosen for the night goes unwatched.

...

The pattern continues as summer chugs along. Sometimes Jason comes home every night or the following morning, or sometimes he's away for days, but he's never gone longer than a week. Occasionally he comes home injured in one way or another and now he lets you fuss over him and tend to his wounds even though he doesn't need you to, just because it seems to make you happy. You no longer stick quite as close to your property during your walks as you had for the last two summers and once you stumbled across him in the middle of a kill: a teenage boy who was spray-painting graffiti on one of the trail signs and ended up with Jason's machete right through his chest. _Honestly, he kind of had it coming,_ you thought to yourself as you inspected the poorly-rendered penis in black spray paint. What was with men and their fixation with drawing dicks on everything? You're glad that the only penis-related fixation Jason seems to possess is of you interacting with his own, which is a fixation that you're more than willing to indulge.

Maybe it's some sort of sick psychosis on your part, or perhaps it's a subconscious yearning to remember the day you first met, but for some reason as summer edges into fall you find yourself wanting to be reminded firsthand that he's the Crystal Lake Killer. Maybe it's just because you're witnessing and learning more about the murders he's committing this year, but you want to feel a little bit of that danger yourself without _actually_ being in danger. Even though you aren't afraid of him anymore, perhaps it's some way to revisit and reshape any memories of the old fear you once had of him? Or to somehow confront and destroy the fear of other men that you'd had for your whole life before him? Or maybe you just want to be reminded of what he does to other people who aren't you, to remember and really feel how special you are to him compared to everyone else? Who knows. You're not a psychologist. All you know for sure is that a fantasy has been forming in your mind all summer, and when autumn arrives and Jason hasn't killed anyone for several weeks you decide to ask him to help you realize that fantasy. It takes you another week to work up the guts to actually do it, and a fierce blush heats your entire face as you walk over to him one evening while he's drying the dishes. You're determined to go through with it despite your embarrassment, so you take a deep breath and touch him lightly on his arm. "Hey, do you think we can try something?"

Jason nods and sets the dishtowel aside, then starts rubbing his hands gently up and down your upper arms, trying to comfort you. You're clearly nervous and he doesn't know why, because whatever you want to try he's willing to try it, too. Whatever you want him to do, he'll do it. "Well, um, I'd like to try playing a game together, if you feel okay with it. You know I love looking at your face without your mask. You're my handsome man, my cutie-pie, and I love seeing you." He kind of half-shrugs and half-nods even as he blushes a bit. Even after all this time it's still difficult for him to believe that, and you know it so you pull his head down to give him a quick kiss. "I mean it. I enjoy looking at the man I love. But I want to try a game where you keep it on while we have sex… and I also want to try having you be a little rougher with me." He looks alarmed at that and his hands go still against your arms. Jason is always exceedingly careful to be gentle with you both in and out of the bedroom because the last thing he ever, ever wants to do is hurt you in any way. You love that about him, the way he treats you like you're the most precious and fragile thing in the world, how thoughtful and sweet and generous he is… but you also want to feel more of the brute power that you know he's holding back.

You rub his chest with your palms and try to keep explaining. "I don't want you to hurt me and I know that you won't. Just a little bit rougher, that's all. You're my big, strong man and I want to feel some more of your strength." Jason is a little confused, but your compliment doesn't go unnoticed and he actually feels a bit flattered as well. But you're not done yet. This part is the hardest and most embarrassing for you to admit out loud, but you take a steadying breath and forge ahead. You trust him, both with your body and your desires. "And… I want to pretend like we don't know each other, like I'm someone you need to punish… but not enough to kill me, of course. I just want you to frighten me and be a little less gentle." Now he's _really_ confused and you can see it on his face, so you start blushing even harder and babble, "Just as a game, just to see what it's like. Maybe you can surprise me one day, sometime when I'm not expecting it, and just grab me and have your way with me. And even though I might struggle or scream, it's just part of the pretending and if you scare me too much or get too rough I'll say the word _'stop'_ so that you'll know, and everything will be okay. I promise." Jason looks a little dubious, but you can tell he's thinking it over. You hope he'll say yes, but don't want to pressure him into doing anything he's not okay with. "But you don't have to! Only if you're comfortable with it! I don't want you to do _anything_ you don't feel okay about." He stands there quietly and tilts his head slightly to the side while he processes your request and you wait for his decision. He thinks it's an odd thing to want to try, but the more he thinks about it the more okay with it he becomes. You've never minded his job, have never given any indication that his killing people bothers you, so perhaps this is just one more way you're trying to show him that you accept that part of him? Even though he doesn't understand it, he wants to make you happy and is willing to try. Whatever you want him to do, he'll do it - and he likes playing games with you too, so perhaps he'll end up enjoying it as well. He nods and gives you a little smile, then begins rubbing your arms again. You beam up at him and stand on your tiptoes as he leans down for a kiss. "Thank you," you say sincerely, and you're filled with equal parts love for him and excitement for however this fantasy might play out.


	20. Chapter 20

A week passes like normal with no mention of your request, and then one day Jason just disappears. He woke up early and crept out of bed without waking you, then went to the woods to wait for the perfect moment to fulfill the fantasy you'd confessed to him. He wants to do it right and has been repeating your instructions in his head and planning it out all week: you want him to surprise you, frighten you a little, act like a stranger and that he's going to punish you, and be a little bit more rough. And most importantly, that you will say _'stop'_ if he goes too far.

When you wake up to find him gone you're concerned for only a moment before you realize the possibility that he just _might_ be planning to do what you requested a week ago. You try not to get too excited in case you're mistaken and go about your usual business while trying to push the thought out of your mind, but it's difficult. You don't see hide nor hair of him all day, but then when you're closing up the chicken coop for the evening you at last hear a slight rustle nearby. You freeze, then quickly spin around to find Jason directly behind you, not even arms-length away. He managed to pull off his stealthy sneak-attack and you have no idea how he was able to get so close without your having any clue whatsoever, especially considering that all of your senses have been on high-alert all day, waiting for him. You back up until you're pressed against the side of the coop and somehow he seems even bigger and more intimidating than usual. He's towering over you aggressively and you look up into his familiar lopsided eyes beneath the hockey mask… but this time they aren't soft and loving. Instead they look incredibly stern, which is about the best he can manage - he just can't bring himself to look angry with you no matter how hard he tries. He can't summon up anywhere close to the same rage he feels for his victims, so instead he's thinking about punishing you in a much more benign sort of way: like when his Mommy would punish him for sneaking a cookie out of the jar or not picking up his toys when she asked him to. Even though he didn't like to be punished, he still knew that she loved him. And while he doesn't understand why _you_ want to be punished by him this way, he hopes that you will also know that he still loves you.

"Jason Voorhees…" you gasp, but before you can react to his sudden appearance beyond that his hand darts out and wraps around your neck - though not too hard - to hold you in place. He raises his machete, looking almost exactly like he did when you'd first encountered him, and your heart stops for one breathless second before he stabs the machete hard into the side of the chicken coop, right by your head. There is a splintering thud as the blade pierces the wood and your heart resumes pounding a mile a minute even as you feel a sudden rush of heat between your legs. He's off to an excellent start in granting your wish. Jason lets go of the machete, which stays stuck in the side of the coop, then before you know it he has you slung over his shoulder like a caveman carrying off a conquest. He's gripping you tightly, more tightly than he usually holds you, and you begin to struggle and kick and pound your fists against his back. You know that any normal victim would be screaming - and you had expected to be screaming yourself - but somehow all you can do is gasp and grunt and grit out an occasional curse as your utterly ineffective punches land against the solid muscle of his shoulders and back.

Jason is feeling slightly uncomfortable with the situation. His first instinct was to let go of you as soon as you began to struggle… but you had told him before that you might fight back or scream as part of the game and you haven't told him to stop now, so he has to assume you are still enjoying this somehow. Your punches and kicks don't hurt him at all, so he just keeps a tight hold on you as he strides towards your house. He kicks open the front door with a tremendous slam and you're surprised he didn't just knock the entire thing off of its hinges - though you kind of wish that he had. That show of force would have been completely worth having to fix the door later. He brings you straight to the bedroom, but instead of throwing you onto the bed like you expect he takes you off his shoulder and shoves you up against your dresser so that you're facing the mirror above it with your back pressed against him. You stare at your reflections - apparently he's going to do this so you can see it, and that idea and the sight of him looming behind you is unbearably erotic. You continue to struggle, feeling a thrill at how useless your efforts are, then he grabs your hips and lifts you up so your feet no longer touch the ground and he can force his thigh between your legs. You squeal in surprise as your feet leave the floor and you're suddenly finding it hard to struggle. He snatches both of your wrists with one hand and presses them against the top of the dresser, stretching your arms out in front of you to the point where you have no choice but to lay your upper body almost flat against it, bending you at a 90-degree angle so that your butt is pushed tightly against his pelvis as your legs dangle over both sides of his thigh and along the front of the dresser. He's staring intensely at you in the mirror with that same stern expression in his eyes, then he reaches his free hand down to hike up your dress and yank your legs apart even more.

"Fuck!" you gasp when his hand presses roughly against your crotch with only your panties in the way. They're soaked already and you're glad that you chose to wear a dress today. Jason also notices how damp they are and it relaxes his worries a bit - you really _are_ enjoying this, and for the first time since this game began he starts to feel a little aroused as well. Feeling how wet you are for him always does the trick and he thrusts against you, grinding his crotch into the soft flesh of your ass. You can feel him getting hard and you're glad that he's enjoying this too, but then his hand retreats from between your legs. Before you can whine about it, however, he suddenly slams his fist on top of the dresser right next to you so hard that it makes the entire dresser rattle. You jump and then gasp when you see that he's holding your meat cleaver, though he's gripping it so that the blade is to the side instead of buried in the wood. He doesn't want to ruin your furniture, though honestly right at this moment you wouldn't have minded if he did. He lets go of your wrists but keeps you pinned to the dresser with his body, then for the first time ever he wraps his fist in your hair and tugs, tipping your head back and exposing your throat as if he is about to slit it. You never would have guessed you'd enjoy having your hair pulled, but he did it just hard enough to be stimulating and not so much as to hurt. So far he's finding the perfect level of roughness and you squirm against him, your fingers scrabbling to grip the far edge of the dresser but then you go still when he brings the cleaver up underneath your jaw. He expertly presses the blade against you in such a way that you can tell how sharp it is, but not so it will actually cut you. He's watching you like a hawk, ready to instantly remove it if you make any move that might result in you getting hurt or if you to tell him to stop. He's taking no pleasure in this part - to the point where he almost loses his erection - but he wants to make sure that he meets your request for him to frighten you a little. You, on the other hand, are incredibly turned on and as you meet his serious eyes in the mirror you really get into character: "Please don't kill me… I'll be good! Please, I promise!" you whimper, and his eyes narrow as he pushes the cleaver just a little bit more firmly against the underside of your jaw. He looks as though he's not convinced, is giving you that same suspicious look he'd worn for the first few days after you'd met and your heart bursts with affection for him, for his willingness to play along with you in this way. "Please don't kill me, oh god, I swear I'll be good, just please don't kill me!" You're trying to sob, but you can't do it because you know there's no way he'll actually hurt you and you're just not that good of an actor. You probably sound even less-convincing than many of the inexperienced actresses in the terrible B-horror movies that you watch together. But it's fortunate for you that you aren't any good at it because if you started to cry - even pretend crying - then Jason would stop immediately. He's unwilling to make you cry, no matter how much you may ask him to. He'd do anything else in the world that you wanted, but not that. He would never want to hurt or even frighten you to the point of tears, not even if you said you wanted it - it's probably the only thing on earth that he would deny you. He squints at you even more suspiciously, trying to keep in character himself, then he finally brings the cleaver away from your throat - though he doesn't let go of your hair. He tucks the weapon back into his belt because if you actually were his victim he'd want it well away from your reach, just in case you tried to attack him with it.

You gulp and suck in a shaky breath, imagining how terrifying it would be if you were actually one of his victims in this moment. The meat cleaver thing was intense, but before you can spend any more time reveling in that intensity he rips your panties right off of you without warning as if they were tissue paper and you yelp in surprise. He's never done _that_ before either, but you decide that you love it even more than the hair-pulling, ruined panties be damned. He rubs one finger against you a moment, testing to make sure you're wet enough and ready for him, then plunges that finger inside so fast that it takes your breath away. You see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, clearly worried that he was too rough, so you break character to give him a little encouragement: "Yes…" you moan and try to wiggle your ass against him as much as you can in your present position, so he starts moving his finger the way he knows you like it… but just a little bit more forcefully than usual this time. He lets go of your hair to run his hand down your back, then he slips it beneath your dress to squeeze one of your cheeks as he ruts against the back of your thigh. He adds a second finger and then a third, and your head drops down to rest against the top of the dresser with a thud and a moan of pleasure. You can feel his erection pressing against your bare skin through his pants before he steps back just enough to drag down his zipper and free himself with a grunt of relief.

Jason reaches into his jacket pocket for the bottle of lube that he'd packed earlier in preparation for this moment, and as he drizzles some onto himself he wonders what the best way to proceed from here would be. Even though you're finally able to take almost all of him inside of you now thanks to months of practice, he knows that you can't quite handle the entire length of him. Every time he takes you from behind he has to be extra-careful not to thrust too deeply, which will make being rougher now without hurting you difficult. So he goes back to a method you'd discovered together earlier in your experimentations when you were still working up to penetration: he removes his fingers and instead of entering you he pushes his hips forward to slide his cock between your thighs and against your crotch, and you both gasp in pleasure. He pulls back and does it again, and soon he's pounding you hard against the dresser over and over and you squeeze your thighs together as his hard length drags between them and against your clit with each thrust. You writhe and moan, clutching the edge of the dresser as though your life depends on it. He's slamming against you so fast and so violently now that the dresser is thunking repeatedly against the wall hard enough to leave dents and you vaguely worry that he might knock the mirror down… but this ferocity is exactly what you wanted, what you needed to try, and you look up into that mirror and see him staring right back at you, his eyes dark and intense and completely focused on you, waiting for you to tell him _'stop'_ … but if he stopped now you think you would die of frustration. You're so close... then he twists one hand in your hair again and leans over you close enough that the fabric of his ragged old jacket brushes your back and you can feel his harsh breath against your neck through the air holes in his mask, and with only a few more thrusts and a particularly hard squeeze of his other hand on your ass your orgasm hits you.

"Ohhh, fuck, Jason, fuck me, fuck me please!" you cry out as you spasm against him, thighs quivering and clenching. Never in a million years would you ever have guessed such a phrase would escape your lips and you're somewhat embarrassed, but you feel so achingly empty that if he doesn't get inside of you immediately you're going to lose your mind. Jason ruts between your legs even faster, panting hard and trying to hold back his own climax. You've never said anything like that to him before, and the wantonness of those words and the desperation in your tone ignite something deep inside of him and when you beg him again he relents. With an animalistic growl he lets go of your hair and thrusts into you as deep as he knows you can handle, but faster than he ever has before. "Ohhh, fuck, yes!" you wail in ecstasy and he's so far gone that he only manages three more quick and brutal thrusts, then he groans loudly as he comes inside of you. Your nails dig into the dresser hard enough to scratch the varnish and you watch his climax in the mirror, remembering what it was like before you had seen his real face, back when his mask _was_ his face to you, and he looks just as sexy coming with it on as he does without it.

When he finishes he stays draped across your back for a few moments while you both recover, and his heavy weight pressing you against the dresser feels divine. At last he pulls out and takes a step back, then pulls your dress back down to cover you. He tucks himself back into his pants before placing his hands gently on your waist to lift you off of the dresser and set your feet on the floor once again. Your legs are slightly shaky and he holds you steady for a moment until you're able to turn around and hug him. He runs his hands lightly all over your body, petting your hair and looking at you with concern and tenderness in his eyes, waiting for you to reassure him that you're okay. You're more than okay. You're fantastic, actually, and you beam up at him as you reach for the straps of his mask to remove it before pulling him down to you for a passionate kiss.

"Thank you so much, Jason," you say between kisses. "Thank you for trying that game with me, you did such an amazing job sweetheart, I really, _really_ liked it. I loved it, it was so sexy. Did you like it, too?" He nods but also shrugs a little, hoping you'll understand what he means: anytime he gets to be with you he likes it - and this time was no exception - but in all honesty he prefers to treat you gently and lovingly more than brutal and rough. Brutality is part of his work, and you are anything _but_ work. But he's extremely glad to hear that you think he did a good job at what you asked him to do. He always wants to do a good job for you. You understand what he's trying to communicate and are glad that he at least didn't hate the experience - though his powerful orgasm was certainly enough proof of that on its own. "Not your favorite way to have sex, huh?" you ask, and he shakes his head. "Me neither," you say honestly, "I liked it a lot, but I like it most when it's gentle and soft and loving. Is that what you like the most, too?" He nods again, much more enthusiastically, and you give him a smile and another kiss. He's so sweet and so caring, and you wonder what you ever did to deserve such a gentle, loving man in your life. When you pull away you look at him a little bit mischievously. "But would you be okay with maybe being a little less gentle from time to time? We don't have to do the whole _'masked-killer'_ game again if you don't want to, but just maybe a little more rough like that every once in awhile. It's kind of exciting for me. Would that be okay?" Happily he nods, and you can tell that he means it and isn't just agreeing to make you happy. While it's true it wasn't his _favorite_ way to have sex, it certainly wasn't bad by any means. He'd rather not have to pretend he was about to kill you again, but being a little rougher felt good and he didn't mind wearing his mask - and he _definitely_ wouldn't mind hearing you beg him to fuck you like that some more. Plus seeing you so excited and enjoying it so much makes him excited as well. You take his hand and give it a little squeeze. "I don't know about you, but I need a shower after that workout. Wanna join me?" He nods eagerly and allows you to lead him towards the bathroom as you toss his mask onto the bed. You drag your free hand along the surface of the dresser as you walk past it - you're never going to look at that particular piece of furniture the same way again, that's for sure.


	21. Chapter 21

New Years Day comes and goes, and after a breakfast of homegrown eggs and goat-sausage you and Jason head out to the barn through the snow to tend to Billy and Nan. While usually Billy trots ahead of the heavily-pregnant Nan when greeting you this time of year, this morning he lags behind, limping along and trying not to put any weight on his front left leg. You toss some hay into the feeder to keep Nan occupied, then shake your head as you guide Billy out of the pen and over to the stanchion so you can examine his leg while Jason closes the gate behind you. "What did you do to yourself, goofball?" you say gently as you secure Billy to the stanchion and carefully palpate up and down his entire leg. Everything seems to be in order there, so you gently bend his knee to inspect the bottom of his hoof. Jason leans to the side so he can look as well, and when you spread Billy's two toes apart you see a deep cut between them. It's puffy and inflamed, but at least it's not too filthy. "Now how did you manage that?" you murmur, carefully poking your finger around to check for any pus or foreign bodies. You'll need to thoroughly search the entire pen, indoors and out, for any loose bits of hardware or other sharp things that could have caused such an injury. "Jason, can you please go grab the first aid kit for me, sweetheart?" you ask him, and he hurries to obey. You clean up the cut, stuff antiseptic-soaked gauze between Billy's toes and wrap his entire foot with bandages before letting him loose from the stanchion and guiding him back into his pen.

"There you go, what a good boy," you say as he hobbles away towards the hay feeder, and Jason tugs lightly on your sleeve and points to himself. "What is it?" you ask, hoping he can find a way to express what he means. While you don't mind that he doesn't speak, it does make communicating a challenging game of charades sometimes. He points at Billy again, then points to himself. You think about the last things you just said and did. "Does your foot hurt?" Jason shakes his head. " _'There you go, what a good boy'?_ " you repeat, and he nods and points to himself again, now looking a little bit bashful. "You're a good boy?" He nods again. "Yes, you are," you smile at him, and while he seems pleased with the compliment he also looks a little bit frustrated. Clearly you haven't quite pinpointed what he's trying to say yet, but at least you seem to be on the right track. "Do you want me to tell you you're a good boy?" you ask, hoping that he won't feel belittled or infantilized by this guess… but he _does_ seem to thrive on your praise and approval, and sure enough, he nods. "Okay, sweetie, I'm happy to do that. Because it's true - you're a very good boy." He looks happy and even more bashful, but then he suddenly pulls you close to him and hikes your leg up over his thigh a bit, then makes little thrusts against you, mimicking intercourse. He lets go of you quickly and he's blushing harder than you think you've ever seen him blush before. He feels embarrassed by his request and wishes he knew how to tell you what he wants without having to resort to grabbing and dry-humping you without warning, but there was really no other way. He was already incredibly lucky that you even said the phrase _'good boy'_ in his presence, which gave him an opening to try and communicate this secret desire of his. He can only hope that you'll guess it correctly.

You're confused and a little taken aback for only a moment before it clicks into place in your mind. "Do you want me to tell you you're a good boy while we're making love?" Jason nods shyly, his cheeks flushing dark grayish-blue while he looks at the ground and you realize that he's probably just as embarrassed and nervous to make this request as you were when you asked him to role-play with you several months ago. "Do you want me to say other nice things like that more often while we're having sex?" you ask kindly, and he nods again. You suppose it makes sense: again, he seems to thrive on your compliments and praise, and to the best of your knowledge the entire reason he even still exists is to please his Mother by doing what he thinks she wants him to do. He's always striving to please you as well, and while you thought you'd been voicing your approval sufficiently, apparently he needs to hear it more often. You wonder if he wants more than just upping the quantity of praise and adding _'good boy'_ to the mix so you keep throwing out guesses, trying to get as close to what he wants as you can. It's not fair that you were able to just tell him your fantasy so straight-forwardly, so you try to be thorough in uncovering every detail you can about whatever his might be, even if your guesses are a little outlandish or embarrassing at times. You ask him yes-or-no questions about every possible thing you can think of that's even remotely in the ballpark of being praised and called a good boy, and by the end of it discover that he wants to be called those pet names and he wants you to tell him what to do to make you feel good. Even though by now he already knows very well how to pleasure you, apparently he really likes hearing you say exactly what you want him to do and then telling him he did a good job when he does it… and it seems he wants to hear you say it in explicit terms, because you also discover that he liked it when you begged him to fuck you. It appears that your sweet, submissive monster is into dirty-talk. That's going to be a tough request for you to meet since you don't think of yourself as much of a talker in general, let alone in bed. You were actually rather embarrassed by your spontaneous _'fuck me, Jason'_ outburst and haven't done it again since, but you want to make him happy and it's really a pretty benign request. Perhaps there's something therapeutic for him in having you do all the talking for both of you since he can't do it himself… plus, as a creature whose entire existence hinges on his belief that there's a job he needs to do for someone who has long been dead, he's been deprived of verbal approval for ages. You're just grateful that he doesn't want you to refer to yourself as _'mommy'_ during sex. You had asked - just in case - and were deeply relieved when he shook his head. You understand and accept that he's got a certain amount of mommy-issues, but you're glad that they don't extend too far into the bedroom.

"Alright, love," you say soothingly after your interrogation is over and his blushing has finally eased up a bit - as has your own - then you give him a mischievous little smile and squeeze his hand. "How about tonight after I finish work you show me what a good boy you are, hmm?" Jason nods excitedly and leans down to kiss you, feeling just as grateful for your acceptance of this idea as you felt when you shared yours with him a few months ago. _And who knows?_ you think to yourself… maybe this will turn out to be just as enjoyable for you as well.

...

"Are you ready to show me what a good boy you are?" you ask as you sit down on the edge of the bed later that night, naked and primed from long minutes of kisses and caresses in the shower together, and Jason nods as he kneels on the floor in front of you. You wonder just how submissive he actually wants to be, how dominant he wants you to act, how much he wants you to order him around. You hope that you're up to the task, but are simultaneously afraid of taking it too far. "If I say or do anything you don't like, please just tell me, okay sweetie? I promise it won't hurt my feelings, I just want to know what you enjoy, okay?" He nods, then nudges your bare knees slightly apart with his cheek. You take a deep breath, telling yourself that you can do this, that you can talk to him the way he wants you to. "Do you want to eat my pussy while I call you a good boy?" you ask in the most sultry tone you can manage and he nods, shuffling closer between your legs. "You like making me feel good with your mouth, don't you?" Another nod, this one even more eager, and you spread your legs wider and bring one up to slide over his broad shoulder. "I like it when you do that, too… you're so, so good at it. Why don't you do that for me right now?" You rub your heel against his back and he scoots in as close as possible and brings your other leg up over his shoulder with one giant hand. He wraps his arms around your thighs, lightly stroking the sensitive skin of your thighs with his cool, rough fingertips, then dips his head and starts licking.

"Yeah, that's my good boy… mmm, you're so great at this, Jason, you're so good at licking my pussy, you make me feel amazing… such a good boy." Your cheeks burn as you say all of this, absolutely certain that you sound ridiculous and repetitive and like the worst porn star ever, but clearly Jason doesn't think so because he makes an excited noise and shoves his face even deeper into your crotch. For a moment you wonder how he's able to breathe, but soon you're so distracted by pleasure that you can hardly think at all. "There you go," you somehow manage to say, "You're doing such a good job. Now make me come, sweetheart. I want you to make me come with your mouth." Jason nods from between your legs, then pulls out all the stops and employs every technique he's learned over the past eleven-or-so months to bring you to a shuddering, toe-curling orgasm within only a few minutes. Your thighs squeeze tightly around his head as you buck against his face, and you're glad that he's tough enough to take it. He's more than tough enough to take it. He loves it, in fact, and his hands slide down to clutch your ass and pull you up harder against him, effortlessly lifting your butt right off of the bed and eating you out just as hungrily as the goats devour their grain.

He keeps his face planted between your thighs throughout your climax, licking you softly as you start to come down, and once your panting finally slows you murmur, "Mmm, that felt incredible. You did a wonderful job, you're such a good boy. Now lean back and let me see you stroke that huge cock of yours." He whimpers and moans against your sex, then sits back on his haunches so you can see him take himself in hand, already fully erect and leaking just from pleasuring you and from your words. Talking to him this way is starting to come easier and easier, and you're actually finding that you rather enjoy doing it, which you never would have guessed about yourself… but then again, Jason has made you realize _many_ things about yourself that you never would have expected. "There you go, I want to watch you touch yourself for a little while, let me see you make yourself feel good. My good boy, my handsome man." He obeys, and you rub your calves against his shoulders and watch with heavy-lidded eyes as he slowly slides his fist up and down his length while you recover from your orgasm. It's an extremely arousing sight, and you tell him so. "God, Jason, you're so sexy, I love looking at you. Now get up here and fuck me with your big, hard, gorgeous cock," you order him, though not unkindly, and push your feet against his chest so you can scoot backwards until you're laying fully on the bed. "Make me feel amazing like you always do. Show me what a good boy you are and make me come again." You bend your knees and spread your legs wide in invitation, then beckon to him with both hands and he scrambles up off of the floor and climbs on top of you. He reaches for the nearly-empty bottle of lube that's taken up permanent residence on the nightstand - the two of you go through it so quickly that you should probably start buying it in bulk - and after he gets himself nice and slippery he lifts your butt slightly off the bed and reaches down to guide himself inside you. You grip his shoulders and you both moan in pleasure with each of his slow, deep, deliberate thrusts, the familiar stretching of your inner walls as he fills you up completely making your eyes roll back as you arch up to meet him. "Yesss, Jason, you're gonna make me come so hard, you're so good, your big cock feels so good deep inside my pussy, you're such a good boy…" He makes little whining noises as his hips surge against the back of your thighs until he's buried inside of you as far as possible, clearly loving the way you're talking to him. You're already almost on the brink of tumbling over that cliff again, but you manage one more instruction: "But don't come yet, sweetie… keep being a good boy for me and don't come until I tell you to." You wonder how he's going to react to this command, wonder if you're being too domineering, but he moans and nods, panting against your neck and picking up the pace and force of his thrusts. Jason has proven himself to posses impressive stamina - both while pursuing his prey and in the bedroom - and you're confident that he can comply with your request. He ruts into you almost as violently as he did during your little role-playing session a few months back, and you can no longer tell him what a good boy he is because you can't catch your breath through the mind-blowing pleasure he's giving you. You force out one final phrase as the first quivers of your orgasm begin, the phrase that he apparently loves so much: "Oooh, yes, please Jason, fuck me harder, please fuck me!" you gasp, and he moans loudly between harsh, ragged breaths and does his very best to meet your demand. You reach down to furiously rub your clit and within seconds you clench hard around him repeatedly as your climax hits you like a freight train, and it takes all of his power and self-control to keep from coming as you thrash and wail beneath him.

It's a particularly amazing orgasm - he's done a _very_ good job of pleasing you and once you regain the ability to speak you tell him so, lavishing him with praise and lazy little kisses all over his flushed, slightly-sweaty face while he remains motionless inside of you, still rock hard and aching with need. You can feel his arms shaking a little bit as he holds himself up and you decide to finally take pity on him. "Now make yourself come, sweetheart, and pull out before you do it. I want to watch you finish." Once again he obeys, moving back until only the very tip of him remains inside of you, drawing a soft moan from you both. He braces himself on one hand while he brings his other down to jerk himself off quickly and firmly, his hand bumping against you as he strokes his entire remaining length. "Are you going to come for me like a good boy?" you say sweetly, bringing your arms above your head in a languid, completely-satiated stretch. Jason nods frantically and after only a few more erratic pumps of his fist he makes a desperate noise that sounds surprisingly close to your name right before he goes stiff, every gorgeous muscle flexing as his head tilts back and he pulls all the way out of you just in time. You coo and compliment him while he comes, telling him how good he looks, how thoroughly he's satisfied you and how much you love him and love being with him, and you don't realize that he's so overwhelmed by pleasure and happiness and hard-earned bliss that it nearly makes him tear up. You've granted his wish even better than he could have hoped, and it's as though a gaping emptiness in his soul that he didn't even know was there has been filled. He feels so loved, so appreciated, and so grateful to you that there is no possible way he could express it even if he had all of the words in the entire world.

When he finally collapses he rolls onto the bed by your side so he doesn't crush you, nuzzling his panting face into your hair and you can feel his entire body trembling from the intensity of his orgasm. You roll onto your side to face him. "You did such a good job, Jason, you're so good to me. Such a good boy," you hum contentedly, then run a finger along your stomach and bring it to your lips, tasting the musky tang of his semen and he groans weakly at the sight. If he wasn't already dead he thinks that you just might kill him, but what a way to go. It certainly beats drowning, and he would happily die a million more times if it was you making him do it.


	22. Chapter 22

Years pass by. The various seasons come and go in their familiar, comforting pattern: chicks hatch and kids are born in the spring, Jason goes hunting every summer, come fall the kids are butchered and goats rebred, and every winter is spent hunkered down together in your cabin, cozy and warm from the fire and your love and devotion to one another. Eventually Nan dies of old age, and then Billy follows her a year later. You generally try to avoid anthropomorphizing them, but Billy was so despondent after Nan died that you could swear he died of a broken heart. You and Jason bury them side by side beneath a tree near their barn, and Jason learns that he can still cry when a few tears escape him while you sob into his chest. You keep Nan's last daughter to take her place and bring home a new buck to replace Billy… though neither of them are really replaceable in your hearts - they were instrumental in bringing the two of you together.

Jason's body stays the same as the years wear on, but yours begins to change: you get older and slower and your joints begin to ache. The silver streaks in your hair increase, as do the lines on your skin. But Jason loves and wants you just as fiercely as ever, loving and holding you as he always has. To him you are always beautiful no matter what, just as he is always beautiful to you. One day you both notice that you're looking a little thinner than before through no effort on your part. Jason's learned to cook over the years and he tries to encourage you to eat, preparing your favorite meals and making worried little noises as he offers you plates piled high with food, but you find that your appetite is waning as well. Then the occasional pain low in your abdomen begins and you know that something's not right. You tell him that it's nothing to worry about, that you're just going in for a check-up. You try to keep your mood light as you give him a kiss before driving yourself to the doctor… but he knows you well enough to tell that something is wrong. He fidgets and paces until you come home, then hurries out to you when you pull into the driveway. "They just need to do some tests." you tell him, and he lifts you right up off of the ground in his strong, gentle arms so he can bury his face in your neck. "It'll be alright," you soothe him, though deep in your heart you know that it won't, tests or no tests. That night he makes love to you as if you are the most precious and fragile treasure in the world, and your heart breaks into a thousand pieces.

The test and imaging results come back, and so has the cancer - only now it is everywhere. _Six to nine months at best,_ the doctors all agreed, and while you're not quite as young as your own mother was, it's still too soon. Far too soon. You wish more than anything that you could lie to Jason, could tell him you'll be fine, but this time it's just not true. You won't be fine. That night you tell him, with his head in your hands, that you're going to fight for every last day. He wishes he could fight it for you, wishes he could tear that invader right out of you body and rip it apart with his bare hands… but for the first time since before he drowned he is powerless.

You sell the goats. Even though Jason could take care of them once you're too sick to do it yourself, after you're gone there will be no one to buy them hay for the winter months. It makes both of your hearts heavy and the barn feels so empty. The chickens soon follow for the same reason, and as you sit in a lawn chair while Jason mucks out the coop for the last time you reminisce to him out loud your memories of building it with him. "You've always helped me so much," you praise him as he carefully lifts you out of the chair to carry you back inside once he's finished. "My big, strong, handsome man. My good boy, my cutie-pie." Even after all these years he still blushes at those pet names, and you laugh affectionately and kiss his neck before he sets you down gently on the bed. His worried eyes watch as you swallow down another pain pill, but then he crawls into bed with you and wraps you up in his arms when you beckon him.

Jason doesn't go hunting this summer for the first time in decades. Bad people will come next year for him to destroy, but every second with you is precious. Your hourglass cannot be turned back over. You adamantly refuse hospital admission and instead set up home hospice services for yourself. You lie to the providers, forge some signatures, say that you have someone there to help you but that he's just not available to meet them. Though it isn't actually a lie… Jason will take care of you. He waits in the barn until they leave, the only people other than you that he allows to come and go from his land. The nurse comes every three weeks, and then every two. The amount of pills required to keep the pain in your body to a dull roar increases, and then the pills can no longer take enough of the edge off for you to function. You move to the bed for the winter. Jason takes care of you the way the nurses have instructed between their visits, and now every week they come to check your vitals and refill the morphine. Nine months come and go, and your time is almost over.

"I don't want to leave you," you whisper, tears running down your cheeks as you softly stroke his face. "But I don't have a choice. All creatures must eventually die, including me." He shakes his head like a defiant child, on the verge of tears himself. You think of how long he has been trapped here haunting this lake and the woods surrounding it. How his fury, his vengeance and his devotion to his long-dead mother have kept him bound to this place for so, so many years, convinced there is a job he must do for eternity. How long he has been cursed. It shatters your heart to think of him going back to that state where he has nothing but pain and rage and death, where he can't come home to your waiting arms and the whole of your heart and soul. "All creatures must eventually die," you repeat, "Maybe you can, too. You've worked so hard for so long, and you've done such a good job. You deserve to rest." Tears begin to flow from his sad hazel eyes and you lovingly wipe them away with your thumbs. It takes you a moment to speak again. The bone-deep exhaustion, pain and the cocktail of drugs to help dull that pain have sapped nearly all of your strength. You close your eyes and your arms tremble a bit with the effort of holding your hands to his face, so Jason grasps them gently to hold them for you. At last you can speak again, and open your eyes to gaze at him with all of the love in your heart.

"I'm so tired. It's time for me to rest now, sweetheart. Maybe… maybe you can rest now, too. Maybe you can be finished with your work. Maybe you can come with me. With me, and Nan and Billy. With your Mother." He sucks in a shaky breath at that and his tears fall so fast now that you can't wipe them all. You've never really believed in any sort of afterlife, but you also never would have believed a being like Jason could exist, so who knows what is possible in this universe? All you know is that if there _is_ an afterlife it won't be worth going to without him by your side. You'd rather turn into nothing, or else join him in haunting Crystal Lake till the end of days.

"Maybe you can stay with me, and come home to her. I'm sure she'd love to see you again… I'm sure she's missed you so much. Has missed her little boy." Jason openly weeps for the first time since he was a child. He's missed his Mommy for so, so long, and now he's losing you, too. How can he avenge you without someone to punish? He cannot punish illness, cannot destroy this sickness that's taking you away from him. There is no bad person to kill, only the cruelty of the world over which he is powerless. Impotent rage flares up inside of him and you can see it in his face. Your heart aches for him.

"Maybe you don't have to be angry anymore," you say gently, stroking his cheek. "There will always be bad things and bad people in the world, but it doesn't have to be your burden to punish them all. You are a good person. My best person. My only person. I love you so much, Jason. Always remember that." He finally nods and brings one of your hands down from his face to rest lightly against the blanket so he can lay his own hand gently over your heart. He loves you, too. So, so very much. You give him a soft smile and bring your other hand down to place over his. "Whatever you need to do, do it. I understand. But know that I'll be waiting for you if you decide to come with me someday." Jason nods as he sniffles and wipes the last tear from your cheek, and even though his heart is still breaking his anger calms at your words. He crawls into bed beside you and tenderly wraps you up in his arms as you fall asleep.

On the night that the first little buds begin poking their way through the last chills of winter, you slip into unconsciousness and don't wake up again. Jason has seen enough dead bodies to know when you're gone, and the pain in his own dead heart is nearly unbearable. Somehow it even drowns out his rage. He stays with your body until it goes cold, but gently wraps you in a blanket and carries you from the bed before you go stiff. He doesn't want to remember you as a decaying corpse, doesn't want to risk some bad person finding you and destroying your remains like they did to his Mommys. He carries you through the forest on that misty spring morning, past the place where he'd nearly murdered you on the first day you met - he would never forget that spot. He brings you to the clearing where what's left of his shack remains, now nearly one with the earth and the ivy and blackberry brambles that the goats so loved to eat. He hasn't used this cabin in years, not since he moved his small shrine to your house. He comes to visit his Mommys grave, and now he will come to visit yours. Or maybe… maybe he'll stay. Summer will be here in a few more months, but he finds that his appetite for revenge has been dulled, has withered and shrunk like your appetite did towards the end of your life. What was the point anymore? His Mommy is long dead, and so is he. Now you are dead too, but there's no one to kill for your sake or your memory. His tears fall into the grave that he digs for you beneath a beautiful birch tree not far from his Mommy, and your words echo in his mind: _Maybe you don't have to be angry anymore. You've worked so hard for so long and you've done such a good job. Maybe you can be finished with your work. Maybe you can come with me, stay with me, and see your Mother again… maybe you can rest now, too._

He digs a third grave between yours and his Mommys. There's no tree for his headstone, but he doesn't care. You and his Mommy were the only two reasons he exists, the reasons he's carried on all these years… and now you are the reasons he will finally rest. There is no one to fill in his grave with dirt once he climbs down into it, but soon enough the leaves from your trees will wither and fall to cover him and the sides of his grave will crumble in and he'll rot away into dirt as well. He places his Mommys old sweater on his chest, then pulls the second blanket he brought over himself like a shroud, your comforting, beloved scent the last thing he smells as he takes his final breath. He closes his eyes and slips into darkness. He doesn't wake up again. It's time to rest.

...

 ****Author Note** I apologize for the somewhat sad ending (especially after like, 6 chapters of pretty much nonstop smut, lol) but in my mind it's actually a happy one for Jason. I think of him as a tortured soul, stuck on earth and endlessly performing a task for someone who isn't even around anymore… someone who might not even _want_ him to perform that task as far as we know, since - if I recall correctly - the only times we really hear his Mother talk to him (in _'Part 2'_ and _'Freddy vs Jason'_ , which happen to be my two favorite interpretations of him) it's in his own mind, not reality. Like so many unfortunate souls who linger on after death, he's got unfinished business. And after having him experience something other than rage and suffering, I wanted to let him finish that business and finally be at peace. He's a good boy, and he deserves to rest.**


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